


Don't Stand Too Close (Don't Hide From Me)

by Quercusrobur



Series: Sun In My Sky [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Explicit Sexual Content, Far Future, First Time, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, Temporary Character Death - Jack Harkness, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quercusrobur/pseuds/Quercusrobur
Summary: Jack has a remarkable number of stories that end with everyone losing their trousers and running away. The Doctor is dismayed to discover that they are not all made up.The adventure at Fordering Station referred to at the beginning of Chapter 5 ofA Long Shadow Cast.





	1. Probability

**Author's Note:**

> _My first adventure story! Couldn't come up with something simple, though, could I, no... It took months for me to figure out the adventure part. Time travel, banter, characterisation, romance, smut, I'm ok there, but adventure? Always learning. I hope you enjoy it! Explicit content chapters 5 and 6 only._   
>    
>  _It's probably not necessary to read the previous works in the series, but just know that a. this is before The Wedding of River Song for the Doctor, and centuries in the future for Jack; b. the Doctor has done important things that are still in Jack's future which have left him in an uncomfortably conflicted state regarding Jack and his immortality; and c. Jack last saw the Doctor a century ago, they fought, and the Doctor left him, but he knows that sometime in the future the Doctor gets over it._

“Have fun,” the Doctor grumbles, staring down at the frozen body of his lover. “What sort of fun do you call this?” Jack's essential optimism had been showing again, he suspects. Wisps of frozen atmosphere curl in the air currents stirred by his movements, sublimating from the frost coating Jack's body. He is too cold to touch. Casting about for a way to transport him to the infirmary, the Doctor's eyes fall on a thermal wrap folded tidily on the console. “Thank you, old girl, don't know what I'd do without you.” He begins wrapping Jack, gingerly folding the blanket around as he is rather brittle at the moment; the hair is a loss but it will grow back. “No, certainly not,” he laughs, shaking his head in horrified amusement at the TARDIS's suggestion. “Perish the thought. Alistair would never take me back, in any case.”

Hoisting Jack into his arms, he begins making his way to the infirmary. It is no trivial feat, carrying a man of Jack's height who has been frozen into the shape of the inside of a box; the shape of the outside of a box might have provided welcome handholds. “We didn't think this through, did we,” he grunts, as he finally surmounts the stairs. The TARDIS sounds apologetic, and gives him the infirmary directly. “Never mind. Thank you, dear.”

Terrible sense of humor notwithstanding, she is very helpful when she wants to be, and in short order Jack is ensconced on a heated bed, blankets wrapped round, cocoa as well as warm broth waiting. The Doctor doesn’t know if he likes cocoa; he doesn’t know a lot of things about Jack. By percentage of things it would be possible to know, he knows almost nothing at all. It is a sobering thought.

As the itch between his shoulder blades intensifies, the Doctor retreats to the doorway. Cushioned by distance and repeated exposure, the shock of his dimmed sun reigniting still doubles him over, perceptions knocked all a-jumble; but so much better than that first awful rescue.

Jack groans, and after a moment mumbles groggily, “How do I count that, then?”

“Count what?”

His head jerks up a few centimetres, then falls back. “Doc. Where are you? Oh,” as the Doctor sidles around to be in view, without coming too close for comfort just yet. “Always hiding away somewhere… pleasant surprise.” He sounds like his lips are still numb, and he is beginning to shiver.

“I suppose I must be an improvement over whomever you saw last,” the Doctor agrees, relieved to see Jack's hair has been restored without lasting damage, if a bit short.

“D-didn't actually see them, b-but yes,” Jack says, teeth chattering together.

Careful not to touch, the Doctor reaches to tuck the blankets back around Jack's face. “Give it a few minutes, Captain. We found you stuffed in a freezer box in what looked like a giant floating jumble sale, in a cargo net outside a space station. I don't understand how you get yourself into these predicaments, honestly -”

“P-probability,” Jack offers, and the Doctor snorts.

“I suppose so. You'll be able to teach monkeys with typewriters a thing or two. I imagine I'll find you tap dancing with a, a Sontaran, on the roof of the Mintraxian Grand Opera someday.”

“You know,” Jack says after a moment of thought, “I actually can’t think of a less likely place to find a Sontaran. I’ll add it to my list.” The full-body shivers are calming; he will be able to hold a mug soon.

“I don’t want to hear about it if it ends with you losing your trousers again.” A pained smile flickers across Jack’s face and the Doctor changes the subject. “Have some cocoa. Do you like cocoa?”

“Not particularly,” Jack says, reaching for it, “but if it's warm I'm not picky. Erm.” He glares askance at where the shoulder of his shirt has ripped like tissue paper with his movement, then takes the cocoa anyway and sips at it.

“Freezer box,” the Doctor repeats. “Not technically as cold as space but it’s a rather important technicality.”

“Right. What did you do with it?”

“Atomised it. The second time.” The TARDIS had fetched him a large, heavy box, first try, which was not ideal. “But, count what?”

Jack eyes him over his mug, lost. “What?”

“You said when you woke up, how do I count that. What?”

“Oh. Checklist, for when I wake up. Warm, dry, in pain?” He is speaking in between sips. “Wasn’t sure how to count _hypothermic, but smothered by blankets_.” The Doctor rolls his eyes. Jack chuckles, and hands the empty mug back as he sits up to take the broth; he looks happier with it. “Thanks, by the way. I hope I didn’t lose too much time to this.”

“You want to go _back?_ ” The Doctor manages, just, not to say something remarkably stupid like _usually can’t get rid of you_ , because this younger Jack takes these things seriously and then everything turns awful very quickly; although by the look on Jack’s face maybe it came through anyway.

“Something interesting going on.” He sips his broth, eyeing the Doctor, then adds diffidently, “Come with me, maybe?”

“Maybe I will,” the Doctor says, with no intention of letting Jack out of his sight.

“After I get some new clothes, I suppose. These might be a little more… eye-catching, than I’d rather, right now.” Jack grins and tugs at his shirt, which tears away easily.

“Traveling wardrobe, that's all we are,” the Doctor grumbles halfheartedly. “Exploring time and space to save the universe from the next creative way Captain Jack loses his clothes.” Jack clicks his tongue and winks at him over his mug, unapologetic as ever.

\-------

Jack is not a religious man. He has seen too much to believe in much aside from the essential irrationality of existence, or hope for much aside from the occasional grant of mercy along his way to the long, lonely heat death of the universe; but if he believes at all, it is in the Doctor. The Doctor, who, for now, can hardly bear to be near him. Just another delightful part of his life, die in horrible ways, wake up to this. It is not clear to Jack _why_ that is, whether the Doctor is going through an unusually targeted quixotic period or, considering his obvious discomfort, whether it might not be some sort of morally-satisfying masochism and nothing to do with Jack at all. He can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, the keep-away, the hints about leaving, the biting sarcasm; but at least the Doctor was _trying_ to keep a lid on it this time. He seems in a much improved state of mind from the last time they met, and Jack dares to hope he will not regret inviting the Doctor along. He couldn’t bear to encourage that impulse to flee.

When he exits his room, dressed in his usual shirt and trousers, new boots and belt and strap for his vortex manipulator to break in, he nearly collides with the Doctor, who is fidgeting impatiently in the corridor. “What are you doing?” Jack asks, startled.

“Waiting for you!” He frowns as if it should be obvious. Jack doesn’t find it so, from a man who never waits for anything if he can beg, borrow, or steal his way around it. “With admirable patience, I might add, because you said there was something interesting but you didn’t say _what_ , and you took almost twice as long as usual, what were you _doing_ in there?”

Which is a question with _so much potential_ ; Jack can’t help the grin creeping across his face. “ _We-ell_ , since you ask - how much detail do you want?”

“Detail, what - no! None!” He is so easily flustered this time, and his blush is so charming; how long will Jack have to wait?

“I did invite you along,” Jack points out. “You weren’t shy about coming in last time.” It may have been a century ago for him, but he is unlikely to forget that extraordinarily odd day any time soon.

“That was - that was _my_ shower,” the Doctor says, clearly casting about for an excuse. His eyes slide away from Jack’s as he raises a hand to rub at his mouth. “And besides, you’re terribly distracting.”

Jack had rather thought that the entire point; the admission is enough to turn his grin to a satisfied smile. “Kitchen,” he suggests, hooking a finger into the pocket of the Doctor’s jacket and setting off.

“If you must,” the Doctor agrees, bobbing along behind him. “We’re not a delivery service, you know.”

“Good thing too, I only tip when people are on time.”

“I wouldn’t take a tip from you if you paid me,” the Doctor says, and Jack blinks, momentarily confused, then laughs. _Let me give you a tip,_ he had said once to the Doctor, regarding a certain obviously interested party at a pub they happened to step into.

“Alright, no tips. But I promise it would have worked.”

“I didn’t _want_ it to.”

“You need to get out more,” Jack says, turning into the kitchen. “Live a little.”

“I am living,” the Doctor points out stiffly, “right now.” Somehow that seems to have struck a nerve, and Jack gives up on banter for the moment; it has run its course. The Doctor busies himself with tea preparation as Jack goes to survey the fridge. The variety of food available is surprising; Jack can’t imagine the Doctor eating most of it, and wonders if there is an absent companion or if it is the TARDIS being accommodating again. He sends her a thought of thanks, in case, and the feeling of regard he receives in return is so warm that he wonders whether _he_ might not be the absent companion, somehow. She sounds amused. The Doctor, not looking up from his tea, prompts, “So?”

On to the next distraction, then, to get the Time Lord through the acclimation period to Jack's painful existence. “You ever been to Fordering Station?”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s an excellent example of your classic hive of scum and villainy,” Jack says wryly, “and no comments about fitting in, please. Well run, though, and it’s notoriously hard to get rid of a body on a space station. I doubt shooting me was anything well-planned; I’d only been there a couple days.” He shakes his head, and considers his food options. “Suppose I’d do best just to pick up where I left off, see who’s most surprised to see me. Should be amusing.”

“Or deadly,” the Doctor mutters.

“Or deadly,” Jack agrees around an experimental mouthful. “Don’t stand too close.” The pain in the glance the Doctor sends him over his shoulder is startling, but he looks away quickly. To hide it maybe, or maybe just to avoid the culinary anarchy currently obtaining in his kitchen. Paused in mid-bite, Jack considers responding, but gives it up when the Doctor carefully does not look at him again. He doesn’t know what he would say anyway. Dying is just something he _does_.

“I’m traveling right now,” he continues after a moment, “just passing through, but the gossip was interesting. There was some upset, maybe a week ago now, that had people already worked up. Unlicensed shots fired, willful endangerment of habitat, no suspects - which is a feat on a station like this, let me tell you.” The Doctor turns toward him, about to attempt to extract a point from this, and Jack hurries on. “And then the gravitational anomalies started, and no one knows if they’re related, accidental, if someone is making a power play, or what. Didn’t know, anyway,” he adds.

“Gravitational anomalies,” the Doctor echoes, thoughtfully, as he sets his tea and a packet of jammie dodgers at the table and sits. Jack hasn’t made it to the table yet; hasn’t actually got around to a plate. He is almost always disturbingly hungry after too many deaths, but the Doctor seems resigned to it and forbears to comment.

“Artificial gravity,” Jack clarifies, and the Doctor looks relieved; Jack wonders whether he was imagining, or remembering. “It fluctuates. Sort of a constant feeling of wobbliness, but of course it’s the peaks that people are talking about.”

Dipping his fingers absently in his tea, the Doctor draws vague intersecting arcs on the table. Jack joins him with a sandwich. “Everything is an oscillator… All sorts of things one likes a constant gravity for. Drinking. Doing the washing up. Cargo handling? Or stepping out of the lift, suddenly twice as heavy as you expect? It can’t be good for the structure, either.” His brows climb as his abstracted expression turns serious.

Jack smiles fondly. “Couldn’t keep you away.”

Clapping his hands, the Doctor stands. “Just so. Eat up!” He tucks his remaining biscuits into a pocket of his jacket and turns to the door. “Let’s go see this station of yours!” He sounds much more excited than Jack would expect for what is probably a straightforward, low-risk technical problem. Jack eats his sandwich as quickly as he can, washes it down with some fruity concoction he found in the fridge, and follows his impatient friend.

In the console room, the Doctor is darting here and there, muttering to himself, bouncing on his toes when he stops. “ _There_ you are,” he exclaims, as Jack clatters down the stairs. “I spend more time waiting for you…”

“Your patience is appreciated whilst our systems are undergoing maintenance,” Jack intones dryly. “Bet you’re ace when stuck in a lift.”

The Doctor manages to look eager, insulted, and amused all at once. “Don’t get stuck in lifts,” he says proudly. “I have a screwdriver.”

“One of the few situations where that makes any sense.”

“Oh, come off it. Got you out of more trouble than you can shake a stick at.” He’s bouncing on his toes again, clearly ready to be off.

“Trouble you got me into,” Jack agrees, rolling his eyes. And yet somehow, he always ends up back here, following the force of nature that is the Doctor like a lovesick puppy.

“So,” the Doctor says, as he throws the doors open and steps out, “ready to go find some more?”

And that’s why, really.

Smiling helplessly, Jack follows him out into a short, empty corridor. “Always am,” he admits, and as the Doctor looks up at him from where he is poking at a panel a matching smile steals across his face and nearly takes Jack’s breath away. After a moment, feeling too exposed, Jack looks away. “Alright!” he says cheerfully. “Let's go play _who's surprised to see me!_ ”

Eyeing him tolerantly, the Doctor falls into step beside him. “Surely it's not unusual? People seem to be constantly surprised to see me.”

“Well if you will insist on popping out of the woodwork -”

Frowning, the Doctor admits, “I do have weapons of various sorts aimed at me with disturbing regularity.”

“See? No, I take a much gentler approach.”

The Doctor raises his brows sceptically. “Involves a great deal of chatting up the locals, I imagine?”

“Sometimes.” Jack grins at the narrow look this gets him. At a cross corridor, the Doctor peers one way and Jack the other, but seeing nothing they continue on their path; at least this one is marginally populated. “Mostly it's just this, though, wander around until I find someone who looks like they've seen a ghost -”

Three things happen simultaneously then: the Doctor whips around, followed by Jack; the person they have just passed lets out a startled gasp and bolts away; and Jack realises he was, not a second ago, looking at someone who looked like they were seeing a ghost. He takes off in pursuit without wasting time on further thought, but when he rounds the corner his quarry turned a moment before, there is no one there. “What the hell?”

“I’d say we've found a strong contender,” the Doctor says, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to scan the corridor.

Jack frowns. Something is stirring deep in his memory, but it never does any good trying to dig for it. “Yeah, but now I look like I've seen a ghost too.” He kicks at the walls desultorily. “Worm-eaten hell hole. Feel like I’ve been here before.”

“Few days ago, wasn’t it?” the Doctor says absently, still searching the corridor.

“No, years ago. I’ve been knocking around for a while, you know.”

“Ah hah!” the Time Lord exclaims, shifting rapidly through settings on his sonic; and then, “Sorry, what?” as he aims at a section of wall indistinguishable from any other, to Jack’s eyes.

“I said -”

There’s a hissing noise, and the Doctor cries, “No, wait, undo!” He smacks his sonic, aims it again, and the hissing stops. “Jack? Hold your breath -” but Jack is already taking a breath to ask what the hell is going on, and the Doctor’s voice sounds very strange, all sort of watery and rushing. That's exactly how the walls look, too, which is - he's not sure why it should be strange, come to think of it. Jack sinks slowly to his knees, then down to the floor like a deflating balloon, it's been so long since he's seen one but he hasn't forgotten, he never forgets, never forgets a face, what was his _name_ …?

There is movement but no one will stay still long enough for him to see them, and cool hands holding tightly, and all that rushing water in the walls is coming to carry him away.

-+-+-+-

 


	2. Salt by the handful

“No,” a familiar voice is insisting adamantly as Jack drifts back to consciousness, “you shan’t be keeping him for observation. I _need_ him, to, to continue my investigation. And you said tyrasomol is harmless.” The Doctor, that's who it is, now what the hell is everything _else_ -!

“If it was tyrasomol,” says a second voice. “There's still the question of -”

“I can hold my breath for a surprisingly long time,” the Doctor interjects. “I brought you the capsule. Analyse it already.”

“More than my job is worth,” the other person says stiffly.

Jack remembers, now. “Fucking unions,” he mumbles. The whole place is unionized within an inch of its life, scammers, scalpers, and smugglers included.

“Jack!” There's more behind the word than Jack can immediately suss out. Opening his eyes doesn't help; the Doctor's face is set in a brisk, no-nonsense mask but his eyes are deep and pained as he looks Jack over carefully. “You're fine,” he declares. “Nothing a bit of a walk won't cure. Up you get.”

The second person is a rather disgruntled looking medic, which is odd; the Doctor usually manages to be charming, if frenetic, in these situations. Jack gives her an appreciative look that has got him out of far worse trouble as he makes sure all his limbs are in working order. “Sorry, I'd love to stay and chat, but I go where the boss says.”

“Yes, of course,” she says, trading the disgruntled look for a slightly flustered smile. “Do come back right away if you feel lightheaded or experience any other difficulties.”

“I will,” Jack says with a wink, and at the same time the Doctor says, “He won’t,” and pulls him out the door. Eyeing his alien sometime-lover speculatively, Jack follows along. It is often a mistake to ascribe human - or indeed, sensible - interpretations to the Doctor’s behavior, but in anyone else… in anyone else, Jack would call that reaction jealousy. “I was just saying goodbye.”

The Doctor puts his head down and walks faster. “For you -” Jack finishes the sentence with him: “- that’s flirting.” Shaking his head, Jack speeds up and settles his arm lightly about the Doctor’s waist. “Hey there, handsome. Captain Jack Harkness, and you are?” The Doctor scoffs but doesn’t pull away, and Jack sighs quietly, relieved the keep-away is done for the day. It will take more than a few centuries to forget the sight of the Doctor collapsed helplessly on the floor of the TARDIS, just from contact with his newly-revived self. “In a hurry?”

“Can't get anywhere in a hurry around here,” the Doctor grumbles, which sounds accurate to Jack. “No, all I managed whilst you were out was a lot of shouting with a surprising variety of people and a very little bit of disassembling that trap left for us. Not us specifically,” he adds, glancing at Jack. “Tyrasomol capsules can apparently be had nearly for the asking. Well, so long as you ask with money. Fast acting, widely applicable, neutralizes quickly. No way to trace it, not that anyone was being at all helpful. It was wired into a panel someone turned into a door, but _mustn't disassemble anything until the breakers get here_. They're all mad here, Jack.” Shaking his head, the Doctor stops and leans against the wall. Jack lets him go, watching in concern; when he looks up Jack is shocked by the unmasked mix of distress and relief on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly imagining all sorts of unlikely mishaps. “What happened? Did someone -”

“No,” the Doctor says, shaking his head, “no, don’t, I just -” He rubs his mouth, looks away. “Watching you crumple to the floor like that, I just… didn’t know what it was.”

Perplexed, Jack stares at him. “Doc. It’s _me_ , remember?”

“That doesn’t make it _okay_ , Jack!” Arms crossed, he glares up at Jack from under his brows.

Not at all sure what to do with this, Jack grins and attempts to set them back on a more normal footing. “Alright, alright, no lying down on the job, I get it.” But the Doctor is having none of it, and Jack's grin falls away as he is reminded of the odd beginning of the last time he had seen the Doctor. The rest of it had been more memorable, admittedly; but the Doctor had been distraught at first. “Alright,” Jack repeats, more soberly.

After a moment, the Doctor looks away again. “Sorry.”

Very carefully, Jack raises a hand to his cheek. “No need,” he says quietly, heart pounding in his chest as the Doctor closes his eyes, leans into his touch just a fraction. “Thank you for worrying.”

They stay like that, for how long Jack doesn't know or care, and then the Doctor smiles at him shyly, ducks his head to the side, and rummages in his pockets for distractions. “Oh! That reminds me,” he exclaims, and looks back up; Jack wonders irreverently what putting his hands in _Jack's_ pockets might remind him of. “There were two more candidates for people surprised to see you, but they didn’t stay to talk. What have you been up to, Captain?”

“Nothing!” Nothing that ought to be getting him in trouble, anyway, unless he counts the possibility of the Doctor being jealous; running into the wrong person could be interesting. Still feeling elated, Jack sets off down the corridor, his steps lighter than before. The Doctor follows. “I was only here for two days, honest!” Jack's next step not only feels lighter, it propels him further than he was expecting; there is a disorientating moment of the floor not being where he expects it and he nearly stumbles head-first into the wall.

“Stop,” the Doctor says, needlessly. He hops up and down slightly, then begins digging furiously through his pockets. “Hold this.” He hands over in quick succession a comb, two spark plugs, a ball of blue yarn, a book that could not possibly have fit, and his leftover biscuits from earlier, then takes them back and tries a different pocket.

Now holding a striped sock, a deck of playing cards, part of a clockwork mechanism, and something unidentifiable that seems to consist of thermometers taped to sticks, Jack tries to ask, “What are you -”

“Ah hah! I _knew_ I would never have gotten rid of something so useful.” Left without any sensible questions, Jack just watches as the Time Lord produces an old yellow yo-yo, slips the string over his finger, and lets it drop. It doesn’t make it back to his hand, and he catches it awkwardly in his other hand.

Never boring, at least. Jack raises an eyebrow. “Out of practice?”

As he winds up the string, the Doctor graces Jack with his very best _stupid ape_ look. “The gravity is fluctuating.”

“I may have mentioned that, yes.” Rolling his eyes, Jack cautiously steps toward the Doctor; gravity appears to be normal again. He tucks the sock, the clockwork piece, and the cards back into the pocket they came from, but the thermometers on sticks… “What is this?”

“Sling psychrometer,” the Doctor answers absently. “Needs the sock.”

No wiser, Jack puts it back as well. “If you’re looking into this, I’m going to go see what I can stir up,” he says, which finally gets him the Doctor’s attention.

“Someone is trying to kill you.” He looks endearingly concerned.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jack leans in to steal a very overdue kiss. He doesn’t push, and the Doctor doesn’t retreat, and it is soft and sweet and altogether brilliant. Grinning like a fool, Jack pulls away; the Doctor rolls his eyes and ducks his head to hide a smile as Jack sketches a salute. “They're _really_ going to have to work at it.”

Not sure what he is looking for, aside from _trouble_ which seems to find him with no difficulty, Jack heads to the lifts and up to the main concourse. There may be a rat in the wainscoting, but he is hardly going to find it by searching a kilometre-wide space station. Gossip, news, odd happenings; or barring that, something else to jog his memory and explain that annoying feeling of having been here before. Too bad the Doctor’s pocket didn’t remind _him_ of anything useful. He spends an hour in one of the pubs he had found good company in before getting stuffed in a box, but all he learns is that nothing has changed in the last three days. Passing his absence off as unpredictable working schedules, he regretfully turns down two offers of company for the evening and sets off to continue looking for trouble.

Within five minutes of wandering Jack counts at least seven shops it would be nearly impossible to extract the Doctor from, and resolves not to let him roam free until things are more sorted; the man may as well be a magpie. He is wandering at the edge of the concourse, where the great open hall closes down into corridors and blocks of lodging, when something grabs his elbow and pulls him around a corner.

“Hey -”

A finger presses briefly to his lips and a familiar but very unexpected voice says, “Don’t talk, run!” She doesn’t go far, just a couple turns into the maze of corridors, before turning to look at him. “There we are, surprised to see me at last.”

“ _River?_ ”

She leans comfortably against the wall and smiles up at him. “In the flesh.” Jack leans forward, intending to kiss her, but she shakes her head. “Best not, he would smell me on you. He was surprised, later.”

Jack blinks, takes a moment to parse that. “Today just keeps getting more interesting. Same problem as usual?” She nods. “What’s this about, then?”

“Just finishing up the to-do list.” She mimes a check mark. “You’re being followed. You were about to give him a very clear shot.”

With a heartfelt sigh, Jack throws himself against the wall. “Fuck. _Why?_ ”

“You don’t know?” River asks, watching him quizzically.

“I feel like I’ve been here before, but I can’t remember when, or what I was doing, and I certainly don’t know why someone keeps trying to kill me!” There is a _click_ , and River pulls him to the floor as a sizzling bolt passes overhead. It came from the corridors rather than the concourse, which suggests they have strayed into distinctly hostile territory. _That way_ , Jack mouths, jerking his head toward a different corridor; River follows, crouched down, her own blaster unholstered.

Their path opens out into a larger area, crates in stacks along the walls but thankfully still sparsely populated; Jack shoves River behind a stack and peers back the way they came. No one in sight yet.

She kicks him. “Indulge your protective instincts on your own time. Reckless hypocrite.”

Jack turns to look at her incredulously. “I didn’t do anything to deserve that,” he protests; when her glare doesn’t diminish, he amends, “Yet?” One corner of her mouth twitches up. “I’m more expendable,” he points out, reasonably. No chance of her recovering from a well-aimed shot.

“Don’t you _ever_ say that where the Doctor can hear you,” she hisses furiously, glaring at him again. “Not ever, do you hear me, Jack Harkness?”

Or where River can hear him either, apparently. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I -”

A very unwelcome call of _Jack!_ comes floating down the corridor; Jack and River freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed. “His _timing_ ,” she groans, and Jack rubs his face in dismay, then looks back around the boxes. Movement from the way they came, and the Doctor coming from the other side, and _he_ doesn’t recover from head shots either -! “Get him out of here,” River breathes, nearly silent. “I’ll cover you. Don’t tell him I’m here.”

“Jack! Where -”

“Get down!” Jack yells, and does his best to draw fire without getting shot.

\-------

He never should have let Jack go off by himself; his ability to concentrate is in ruins. The Doctor keeps finding himself starting out in Jack’s direction, seeking his brightness like sunlight on his face; keeps expecting to feel his fire extinguished. Should have kept him nearby.

“Excuse me, Dr Smith?”

He yanks his attention back to what he is supposed to be doing. “Yes, sorry, Technician Haalu, this is very interesting.” She peers quizzically at the wall he just indicated with an absent-minded wave, and the Doctor tries again to focus. “The problem, I mean, the situation, that is.”

Dr John Smith, Gravitics Specialist; that's him, today. It has been a great lot of bafflegab and showing people the psychic paper and arguing; just finding people who would talk to him was a feat. But he finally secured himself a senior Technician which seems to have been the key, and has spent the last twenty minutes blissfully unencumbered by bureaucracy.

Unfortunately there seems to be nothing wrong, which is patently untrue. “I'm going to go take some more measurements,” he says, giving up.

Technician Haalu frowns. “I know it doesn't look like much, but we do have state-of-the-art instrumentation here.”

“In different areas. To, ah, determine whether there are any localized effects or interesting resonances. And check in with my assistant. I'll be back in an hour.” Ignoring further protests and pulling out his yo-yo, he sets off in search of Jack.

It is rather a hike; the station is in the shape of a great disc, docking and commercial concourses along the circumference, giving way to layers of machinery and management that keep the place running. The Doctor makes his way up three levels and thence to the circumferential lifts, to end up seventy degrees spinward; then up another level to the concourse. Stepping out into a staggering abundance of little shops, he stares around in delighted wonder. “Why _haven’t_ I been here before?”

“Tariffs, probably. Which clearly don’t go toward maintenance,” opines an elaborately robed passer-by, frowning at a screen. The Doctor ignores them. Jack surely won’t mind if they come back through here later, it’s just the sort of place no one could help enjoying. The glowing still point of his favorite Fact drawing him like a flame, the Doctor sets off, absentmindedly winding and unwinding his yo-yo. He is starting to get a sense of the gravity fluctuations, starting to feel the shifting currents in his bones; something is off, _multiple_ things are off, interacting with each other. “Sorry,” he says, making his way through the crowds, trying to keep the yo-yo in constant motion. “Excuse me. Routine environmental inspections, thank you.” Finally he makes it to a cross-wise alley that seems likely, and can walk undisturbed.

“Jack!” he calls. “Jack! Where -”

“Get down!” comes Jack’s strained voice. The yo-yo clatters to the floor as the Doctor crouches, frozen in the middle of a corridor. There is a flash of electricity where his head had been and the smell of ozone, and then Jack is grabbing him, pulling him back the way he came.

“I leave you alone for two hours and _this_ is what you get up to?” the Doctor complains, as he catches his balance and his yo-yo and runs after Jack. “I _knew_ I should have made you come with me -”

“Doctor,” Jack says over his shoulder, teeth bared, “I love you too, but _shut up_.”

Confused, the Doctor shuts up. He follows Jack back to the concourse, through and across it; he tries to catch a glimpse of the shops as they pass. “Astrographic Outfitters, Clockwork Conundrums - Jack, wait - Lornian Fir somatic networks, that can't be legal! What year is this?” But Jack has nearly disappeared in the crowd and he hurries to catch up. “Mintoo ash-leaf _tea_ , Jack, we're going back, right -?”

They break through into a clearer area just as he reaches Jack, and he is slowing, turning with what looks to be a sarcastic remark on his lips when people start yelling at them. Or rather, the Doctor is fairly certain, at Jack.

“Where the hell have you _been,_ mate?”

“You are _in for it_ -!”

“Thought you'd scarpered!”

Jack's eyes go wide and he turns front and keeps running, the Doctor at his side. They make it to a side corridor before a spike in the gravity drops Jack to the floor; the Doctor stumbles to his knees. “ _When_ have I been here before?” Jack gasps, climbing up to lean against the wall.

The Doctor leans beside him. “There appear to be a great many people surprised to see you. Is that supposed to happen?”

“Not really?” Jack waves his hand in a _hold on_ gesture and takes a few deep breaths. “No, hold on, almost got it figured out -”

A mighty bellow reverberates around them. “Evard!” Jack straightens as if pulled by strings and winces.

“Got it,” he says hastily, “can't forget old Shoe-masher - just, uh, play along -”

The Doctor has very little time to process this, as presently a figure hoves into view, surprisingly narrow to have produced such volume. “Evard!” it says loudly again, and the Doctor takes a step back; that voice was never meant for an enclosed space. “Where in the nine hells have you been the last week? Couple of the boys said you just disappeared, but Parsons said she saw you Tuesday.”

Jack winces again but stands to attention, rearranging his face into a rather hang-dog expression. “Third hell, Sergeant!” he announces.

She, for so the figure now appears to the Doctor, stops short and considers Jack, gaze raking down and back up. “Third? That’s not your usual. Are you sure?” Thankfully she seems to possess a speaking voice of normal volume.

“No, Sergeant!” The Doctor watches in bemusement as a much-berated soldier takes the place of his lover, essaying a cautiously ingratiating smile toward his sergeant. She glances toward the Doctor and frowns.

“You involved with this degenerate wreck?” Without waiting for an answer she looks back at Jack. “Bit young for you, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me!” the Doctor protests.

Jack is valiantly fighting a grin. “Says he found me passed out in a corridor t’other side of the station,” he offers, before the Doctor can ruin his story. “Isn’t he _darling?_ ” The sergeant shoots him a quelling glare which the Doctor is fascinated to see actually seems to _work_. Definitely going to be requiring some explanations, later.

“He’s bad news,” Jack’s erstwhile sergeant informs the Doctor. “You look a decent sort of bloke. Best stay away from him.” Jack winks at him, and makes a tiny _off you go_ motion with his head; the Doctor edges off down the corridor as the sergeant turns to pin Jack with a baleful stare again. “And you, _Private_ Evard, are telling me you don’t actually know where you’ve been, but _drunk_ is your best guess?” She shakes her head. “You’ll never even make it back to corporal at this rate.”

“Corporal!” the Doctor exclaims, determined to get some of his own back for the _darling_. “He told me he was a captain!” He wanders away, laughing quietly, leaving Jack, for now, to his very loud fate; he should be safe enough, playing the part of himself in the distant past. Surprising it doesn’t happen more often, really.

Lost in thought, the Doctor enters the circumferential lifts, on his way back to poke about the technical decks once more. The sensation is rather soothing and he neglects to exit at his intended stop, resigning himself without much trouble to a full circuit. By a third of the way around he is wishing his yo-yo worked in the lift field; by the time he makes it back to his exit he has a whole new set of parameters to examine, and a slightly queasy stomach to settle.

His entire complement of helpers seems to have gone; off to dinner, he supposes, and not back yet, which is just as well. He doesn't want to smell food right now. Everything may be an oscillator, but too many oscillators is as bad as too many cooks for spoiling things; far too easy to end up with too much salt. Or gravity, as the case may be. Something unknown is throwing in salt by the handful here.

“What haven’t you told me?” he asks Technician Haalu when she returns. She considers him, face perfectly still, then spends a few minutes looking through the displays he is working with.

“A great many things,” she says eventually, “but none that I suppose to be relevant. You are correct, we’re still missing something substantial. The gravitics are compensating for whatever it is well, but not well enough.”

He is pacing, head surrounded by graphs that now include radius and rotational period as well as speculative information on lift field strength and mass moved, closer to a solvable system but not there yet, when suddenly an entirely different disorientation sweeps over him. As though he had found himself on a carousel in pitch darkness, he has lost his frame of reference utterly; he can’t make sense of it at first. Stumbling to a halt, he catches himself against the wall. A few concerned voices are asking him questions but he can’t hear them.

Jack is gone, and the centre is gone with him.

-+-+-+-

 


	3. Comes and goes

Without a thought in his head, barely registering the people he dodges, the Doctor takes off at a dead run out the door. Halfway down the corridor blind panic overtakes him; he can’t feel Jack - he can’t _find_ Jack - _where is Jack?_ Running in counterpoint is the more sensible voice insisting that there is nothing truly wrong with the universe, that time is still proceeding in orderly ways, that Jack will be fine, of course he will, and the Doctor will be fine too, just as soon as - as soon as - and there it fails against the irrational terror clawing through him. Reversing direction, he runs toward the TARDIS instead. Shutting himself inside her pocket of transcendental space is only a partial relief; the awful wrongness is muffled, but neither is anything _right_. “Please,” he begs, leant against the console, “please find him.” She does not fail him.

At the doors the Doctor hesitates; he takes a deep breath, steeling himself to step outside. He could wait until Jack revives instead, until everything makes sense again; but last time he died here he ended up frozen in a box for days, and if this is the same people they will be trying even harder. Nothing for it but to go. Cautiously, he steps out the door, trying to ignore every sense but physical sight and hearing. Gone are the austere corridors of the lower levels; they have landed at the edge of the concourse, very near the area he and Jack had run through earlier. There is a small commotion at the nearby entrance to a tall block of lodging, and he heads toward it without any real plans beyond _find Jack_ \- but that is starting to feel normal, at this point, even if it shouldn’t.

“Excuse me - I’m a doctor -” he says as he pushes his way through the ring of onlookers, hoping his voice sounds less shaky than he feels. They are mostly soldiers, he realises, which probably makes sense, as he is presently face-to-face with the sergeant from earlier, what was her name?

“I’m afraid we don’t need you,” she says. “He’s quite dead.” Then she narrows her eyes. “Aren’t you his fellow from earlier?” But she has to pivot to keep him in sight as he slips around her, falls to his knees beside his missing light in the darkness. Catching up Jack’s limp hand, the Doctor can at least find his timeline again, dim and straight and forever, and it is enough; the faintest tug of gravity, enough to tell up from down.

But once the panic and fear and terrifying disorientation are gone, all the distress at Jack being _dead_ again falls in on him. His breath hitches, and he opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing, and people are talking, moving around behind him, someone next to him, the smell of charred bone and flesh and hair - he reaches out carefully and lays fingertips against the edge of the burnt crater where Jack’s left eye and temple used to be. “Oh, Captain…”

“Plasma bolt. None of my soldiers saw it.” It’s Jack’s sergeant crouched down next to him; he nods in acknowledgement. “He’d just left; on his way to meet you, I suppose. I’m sorry.” She pauses, and watches him keenly as he gently closes Jack’s right eye, sets his right hand on his chest - he sleeps like that sometimes, pillows on one side, the Doctor on the other… He’s still holding the left. He can’t let go. “You’re no casual fling. How long have you known him?”

It’s not a question he was prepared for. “Most of his life, I suppose,” the Doctor says, mildly surprised. How long that is, exactly, he has no idea at the moment, although it must be approaching two centuries of his own life. “Off and on. Mostly off,” he adds, in the interest of accuracy. Distracted from the paralysing distress, one corner of his mouth twitches up. “Met him when he was thirty seven.”

She frowns. “He’s thirty three. Read his file when he transferred in.”

“That’s about what I figured, yes.”

The frown is distinctly directed at him now. “What the hell - no.” Over her shoulder, she yells, “Pereira! Don’t call anyone else. Log the time, sergeant will report.” She turns back to the Doctor. “Now. What the hell is going on here?”

“It’s a long story. No, it really is,” he answers her increasingly thunderous expression. “But I need to get him away from here first. What was your name?” That usually distracts people long enough for him to get underway.

“Sergeant Iliana Rosa Schumacher, Luisun Federation External Forces. And you can't just take him, he was my soldier, much as I'd have preferred otherwise sometimes.” But the Doctor is already on his feet, pulling Jack up in preparation to hauling him over his shoulder. “Heresy and hypocrisy,” she swears, as she stands and grabs Jack's feet to help carry. “Where are you going? Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“A woman of useful action and unending questions, marvelous! You're wasted as a soldier,” the Doctor says, starting off toward the TARDIS; with that itch starting between his shoulder blades he is out of time to argue. “I'm the Doctor, and we're going to my ship, quick as you can, please. I'd prefer your soldiers continue to think he's dead, not to mention whomever killed him.”

“He _is_ dead. I'm sorry, but there's no surviving a plasma bolt to the head.” She has clearly had to convince people of unfortunate realities before. “He doesn't _have_ half his head anymore.” Shaking her head, Sgt Schumacher mutters to herself, “Providing assistance to loved one suffering temporary grief-induced psychosis, that ought to cover it…”

“Not likely,” the Doctor opines, and clicks his fingers to open the TARDIS doors. Although generally a very satisfying moment, he is in too much of a hurry to enjoy Sgt Schumacher's reaction, which is oddly profanity-free. “Put him down here.”

“On the floor? That doesn't seem -”

“He's used to it!” He darts around the console to safety, and as the sergeant is staring at him in consternation, just about to work out which question to ask first, Jack revives. Startled, she jumps back a step, then peers down at him warily. Jack looks more confused than normal.

“Erm… Doc?” He essays cautiously, without looking around.

“Here,” the Doctor answers, leaning on the console. “Sorry, give me a minute.”

Relief washes over Jack; he rubs his face as he sits up. “Oh, good. Sergeant, why are you here?”

“Mãe de Deus,” she says. “Are you truly Jacob Evard?” She reaches out as if to touch the place where Jack’s head had been burnt away minutes ago.

“That’s a little more philosophical than I was hoping for, first thing,” Jack mutters, climbing unsteadily to his feet and falling into the nearby jumpseat. “Yes, I was, a long time ago. And no; it was an assumed name. Why do I have the hangover from hell?”

“Plasma bolt to the head,” the Doctor says, stamping down mercilessly on the nausea.

“Ah.” Jack squints, one eye at a time, then looks over at the Doctor with a lopsided grin. “That'll do it.” Unable to return the grin, the Doctor just nods; Jack's eyes soften as his grin turns into something more apologetic.

Sgt Schumacher clears her throat and they both turn to look at her, startled. “As glad as I am not to have to deliver that news, I’d appreciate if someone would tell me what in the saints’ heaven is going on here. A long time ago?”

Jack looks at the Doctor; the Doctor opens his hand invitingly. Jack sighs. “Back when I was…” He rubs his face again, and chooses the brief explanation instead. “I’m a lot older than I look, than I was last time you saw me. Why I didn't remember having been here before. It's all a lot of coincidence, from my perspective; for you it just looked like I fell into a bottle for a week. I really did disappear a week ago, and I never came back. I thought that mission was a loss, and then it turned out someone else wrapped it up for me, so no reason to ever return. Now I'm… wondering about that.”

“ _Something_ is certainly not wrapped up,” the Doctor mutters.

“Yeah. The guy I was after, I couldn't trace him anymore after…” he trails off, suddenly looking chagrined. “Oh. That live fire with no suspects a week ago everyone was talking about…”

“That was _you?_ ” Sgt Schumacher exclaims, appalled. “You are irresponsible, degenerate, and a terrible soldier, Evard, but even you should have known better. You're lucky -” But Jack is just grinning at her. She cuts herself off abruptly, shakes her head. “Or whoever you are. You're certainly different. Why did you come back, then?”

“To the station? Just coincidence. Then I wanted to figure out what was going on; thought maybe the boys would have some good gossip and took the opportunity. But,” he shrugs fatalistically. “Jacob Evard is dead, Sergeant, and you’re going to have to do it without a body. It may cause you some issues with station security, for which I apologise.”

The sergeant has that familiar slightly glazed look of too much to take in. “I’ll manage something, I’m sure…” Then she laughs, and if there is a tinge of hysteria to it, no one comments. “Worst case, I’ll tell them the truth; nearly anything else would be more believable. Time travel, coming back from the dead…”

Nearly recovered, the Doctor begins fidgeting with the controls at hand. “Entirely sensible. Jack, I like your sergeant; she is a person of uncommon sense.” If only everyone else were; if only he himself were. Coincidences, indeed. “I think next you should show me where you damaged the station.”

“Where I - _what?_ ” Jack yelps, caught by surprise. “That is _not_ how that happened!”

The Doctor eyes him sceptically. “All this trouble started after you did something. When is a coincidence not a coincidence?”

Jack sighs. “When you’re involved.”

\-------

“This is a bad idea,” Jack says, again, hanging back as the Doctor hops down the steps toward the door. “I don’t want you anywhere near me if someone is following me around shooting plasma bolts at my head.” The Doctor pretends to ignore him, again. “ _Doctor_.”

He stops, and when he turns to look up Jack curses himself for a lovesick fool, because those _eyes_. Those big, earnest eyes, that open, beseeching look; he could weaponise that face. “I need your help,” he says, but there is more to it than that, isn’t there? “Please, Jack.”

Jack nods, because he is a fool. _Be careful_ , Sgt Schumacher had said, whilst the Doctor was running around muttering to himself about a map of the station. _For his sake, if nothing else. He went all to pieces when you_ \- and gestured at the floor. Maybe he did, but the only part Jack ever sees is when he goes all to pieces when Jack comes back, and revulsion in those eyes is a cruel thing to wake up to. He certainly isn’t keen on repeating it unnecessarily, but much rather that than risk the Doctor. Stupid, brilliant, scatterbrained alien. Who apparently can’t bear for Jack to be out of his sight, right now.

“They seem like quite a good shot,” the Doctor says, his tone of voice indicating Jack should find this reassuring. Somewhat against his will, Jack does find it so. Slightly.

“Fine, alright. Don’t blame me if you lose your head.” Resolutely banishing that unwelcome image, Jack follows him out of the TARDIS into an unremarkable corridor. “No,” he says, cutting off the Doctor’s question. “I don’t know if this is the right corridor. I can look it up on the datanet if you give me a minute, but Doctor, if they’ve repaired the damage, and they probably have, you’re going to need breakers again.”

The Doctor, prowling ahead of him, stops abruptly. “Of course I will,” he says with disgust. “Obstructionist bureaucracy, the great leveler. Oh! But I have a Technician. Well, I did; I left rather precipitously, perhaps I should get back -” He reverses direction, and passes Jack heading back to the TARDIS. “Won’t be a moment, Jack, keep working on that, don’t get shot!” And then he is gone.

“I’ll do my best,” Jack says to the fading echoes of the TARDIS’s engines, rolling his eyes.

Substantially longer than a moment later, well after he has made his way to the corridor of interest, Jack finds out the reason for the delay as a very ill-tempered Doctor strides into view, sans TARDIS, leading five other people. “There you are,” the Doctor says as if _he_ were the one who had gone missing, grabbing his hand and towing him along. Jack blinks, and with significant effort confines his reaction to a startled glance. The Doctor isn’t looking at him, though, even when Jack tugs lightly at his hand, and Jack doesn’t actually want him to let go, so he resigns himself to baffling inconsistency and follows along. “Someone show me where the damage was.”

“You’re standing in front of it,” replies one of the Doctor’s entourage with forced patience. The steel blue fur on her forehead is ruffled and her tail is lashing slowly as she stares at the Doctor; Jack wonders if this is the precipitously abandoned Technician.

“Of course I am.” The Doctor steps away, pulling Jack with him. He seems to be recovering some of his usual good humour. “Be about it, please. Jack, this is Senior Technician Haalu, and, ah,” he gestures vaguely, “others. This all seems much more complicated than necessary.”

Technician Haalu gestures two of the others toward the corridor wall, then inclines her head politely to Jack. “My pleasure. You are the assistant Dr Smith spoke of?”

“That's me,” Jack agrees, and bows significantly lower. “Jack Harkness, delighted to meet you. I know he can be a bit, erm.” The Doctor's fingers tighten around his but he doesn't interrupt; he is pretending to be very interested in the process of opening the wall. Technician Haalu pulls her lip up slightly in a sort of wry grin, exposing the tips of her teeth. “A bit abrupt. But you couldn't be in better hands; the Doctor will get this all sorted for you.”

“That is my hope. The damage to the station’s integrity is quickly becoming critical.” She gestures with tail and one shoulder and the human following her steps forward as well. “Here is Technician Suref - my apologies, that is still not the correct sound.”

“Suresh,” he offers, apparently used to the problem. Jack nods and gives him an appreciative look-over, amused by the huff the Doctor lets out. “I was among those who repaired the damage here. What do you, ah, assist with?” He glances curiously at Jack’s hand, which the Doctor has yet to let go.

Jack grins, entirely willing to improvise scandalously, but the Doctor says quellingly, “The usual things, I expect. Show me what was damaged, please, Technician.” He steps away from Jack, pauses, then grudgingly lets go his hand. Beginning to suspect that the Doctor is no happier with his own baffling reactions than Jack himself is, Jack looks around for something assistant-like to do.

\-------

Although he is willing to accept the situation as better than the alternative, which according to Technician Haalu is _not_ fixing the gravity because he would be escaping from detention instead - her analysis hadn’t included the escaping part - having to wait around whilst she gathered people had been nearly unbearable. Jack’s killer, at least, will probably stay away from the crowd.

As best he can determine, all the damage has been repaired competently, which is always a surprise. No one has yet been able to tell him what the highly suspicious wiring running in partial parallel to the gravitics is for. _Deprecated systems_ , Haalu opined, but he hadn’t had to ask her to try to find out; she is the sort of competent person he might have enjoyed having around, at some other time in his life.

As the breakers make themselves useful tearing out walls to trace the wiring, the Doctor pokes around at its not-quite-interface with the gravitics system. Jack is settled at his feet, handing up tools; he hasn’t suggested wandering off again, to the Doctor’s great relief. Letting his mind wander in hopes of stealthily flanking a solution, he comments, “Thirty three, your sergeant said you were?”

“Sounds about right. Don’t tell me you remember back when you were thirty three with any clarity.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag -”

Jack snorts. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“- but I’ve had significantly less head trauma than you,” the Doctor finishes, with a smirk.

Jack looks up at him in surprise, then breaks into genuine laughter. “I thought you were going to say something about Time Lord superiority again.”

“I figured you’d heard that one before.” Unable to resist the opportunity to gain insight into his Captain's past, the Doctor asks, “What was your usual hell? Second, I suppose?”

“Got it in one,” Jack says, and winks at him. “Sometimes seventh, for variety. Eighth if I'd been honest, I suppose, I was certainly there fraudulently.”

Pulling his head from the wall to peer doubtfully at his lover, the Doctor tries to work out what a much younger Jack had spent his time on. “Seventh for… violence? Were you prone to smashing things up, then? Not murder, I should hope.”

“Oh, no.” Jack laughs. “Sodomy. One of my favourites.” He leers playfully at the Doctor, slides his hand up the back of the Doctor's thigh and squeezes his arse.

“Jack!” he protests, with a startled laugh. “I'm _busy!_ ”

“I know,” Jack says, not moving his hand. “You're very sexy when you're saving the world. Haven't I ever told you that before?”

Blushing again, damn his face! “Maybe,” he mumbles, hands carrying on tracing connections despite his distraction; fairly certain Jack has done, come to think of it. “We’re in _public_ , Jack, please.” Jack pulls his hand away as if scalded; the Doctor misses his steady heat immediately, no matter he’s the one who complained. He looks down and surprises a look of betrayal on his lover's face that he doesn't understand. “What?” he demands. “What did I say?”

“We're in _public_ ,” Jack repeats dutifully, mouth twisted in distaste. “Go on, be the hero. I won't bother you.”

“But why was that wrong? What did I say _wrong?_ ” His own older Jack would just _tell_ him, wouldn't make him play this awkward game of _why are your feelings hurt_. River might or might not tell him, but she certainly wouldn't expect him to know. _Amy_ would tell him, emphatically! Sighing, he pulls his hands carefully from the wall panel and crouches down. Jack is staring at him, baffled and wary. “Jack. Please tell me what I did wrong.”

“Maybe nothing,” Jack concedes, but now he is lying too. “Just… my history. Lot of times and places out there people won’t be seen in public with me.” Which doesn't really clarify things for the Doctor; Jack must see that, because he adds, “Men. Won't, or can't, sometimes, be seen in public with another man. Romantically, sexually? Doctor, really, how are you this clueless?”

Equally baffled, the Doctor scowls at him. “Why should I care what prejudices humans are currently espousing?”

With a pained laugh, Jack points out, “You do spend a lot of time around us lower species.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” Dropping forward to his knees, the Doctor considers his more-or-less human lover. “I didn't mean the first one like that, either. If I keep talking, I'll probably make it worse.” Jack looks like he is about to agree, so the Doctor leans forward and kisses him instead. Doing his best to ignore the need that never quite leaves him, he closes his eyes and tries to apologise with lips and tongue, to express what he never seems able to say in words.

Someone whistles at them, and the Doctor breaks away, flustered. Everyone is watching and he feels his face start to burn; but Jack is smiling at him. “You're shy,” he whispers, as if it were a secret in need of delicate handling.

“I'm _private_.”

Touching his cheek briefly, Jack says, “You're forgiven. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. Go save the world.”

“It's a very small and poorly designed world,” the Doctor grumbles as he hops to his feet.

Jack hands up his sonic. “So many of them are. Doesn’t stop you.” The shield of sarcastic banter between them has slipped; the Doctor looks away from the terrifying faith in Jack’s eyes and gets back to work.

\-------

“I know where I’ve seen this before! Ow!” Jack jumps, startled by the abrupt exclamation. The Doctor backs more carefully from the mess of still-connected wiring he has excavated from the wall, some important junction or another. “Good heavens, it’s been a long time… Technician Haalu! Have you figured out what this is yet?” He bounces to his feet but Jack doesn’t bother yet; no telling where he is going next.

“No,” she says, distracted, still paging through what Jack assumes are station records and specifications. “But the upstream junction you wanted is two levels down, N-7-23, panel 6 -”

“Wonderful,” the Doctor interrupts. “Technician Suresh, take me there. Jack, would you gather all this,” he waves at the tools scattered about his feet, “and follow on with Haalu?” He plucks his sonic from the mess, tucks it into his jacket, and sweeps away before Jack can answer, Suresh and the breaker crew following in his wake.

Technician Haalu looks up and blinks. “A bit high-handed, would you say?”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, shoving the tools into a pile. “Some other words I can think of, too. But also brilliant.” He smiles, remembering the Doctor’s silent apology.

“He seems fond of you.”

Still somewhat confused about that himself, Jack shrugs. “It comes and goes.”

Visibly discarding several responses, Haalu eventually settles on, “Ah.”

Jack huffs out an amused breath, finishes gathering the tools, and stands. “Shall we?”

When they arrive the Doctor is practically vibrating with excitement. He would have been bouncing on his toes again, Jack suspects, if he weren't flat on his back instead, head inside the wall. The breakers are watching him in that wary, bemused way people often end up watching him; Jack himself is very familiar with the feeling. He has done with tearing up the corridors, apparently; this room seems to be a nexus of some sort, with openings in all directions, including up and down. Jack leaves the _down_ exit a wide margin as he crosses the room.

“What have you found, Doctor?” Haalu asks, by way of announcing their arrival.

“Technician Haalu! Did you bring -” the Doctor pushes himself out from the wall and spots Jack. “Oh, good. Come here, Jack, I need a v-hex articulated wrench, number three. Did you know - you didn't or you'd have mentioned, of course - what year is this, by the way?”

“By Earth reckoning, the year is 4636,” Haalu answers, with a long-suffering look.

“And that’s another thing,” the Doctor says, sitting up. He takes the wrench from Jack anyway. “Why do you use Earth reckoning? This isn’t a human space station.”

“We do not discriminate on the basis of species. The station is located -”

“In human space!” the Doctor exclaims triumphantly. “Or near it, anyway, and I know that because it is built around an original First Diaspora-era habitat module! Late 29th century, unless I miss my guess, which I don’t. Beautiful things, these habitat modules, they built them to last in those days.”

Technician Haalu looks reluctantly fascinated. “How did you - is that where the deprecated systems come from?”

“Quite right,” the Doctor says, with a nod and a congratulatory smile. “I suspect - hold on a moment.” He ducks back into the wall, makes some adjustment, and slides back out. “Thank you,” he says, handing the wrench back to Jack, who has been watching silently, enjoying his manic energy, his delight in finding a solution. Just waiting for the reveal; the Doctor does so enjoy pulling a rabbit out of his hat before an appreciative audience. He stands, and yes, does begin bouncing on his toes. “There was a significant improvement in gravitics technology in 3580, or somewhere thereabouts, and I suspect your station was retrofitted with it. And it does work remarkably well, as we’ve observed. However.” He cocks his head, as if listening for something. “However, not well enough to entirely compensate for a _second_ gravitics system, calibrated for a smaller station without, I suspect, the complication of the circumferential lift.” He pauses, grinning invitingly.

“A second system?” Jack obliges, smiling up at him.

“A second system! That damage last week,” he smirks at Jack but refrains from blaming it on him in front of an audience, “turned the old one back on. Things working _too well_ is not, I admit, the usual sort of problem I end up fixing, but a change is as good as a rest, they do say. So!” He claps his hands, rubs them together. “All I have to do -” he spins in place, strides toward the centre of the room, “- is turn it off!”

The centre of the room where there is a giant _hole in the floor_ -! “Doctor -” Heart in his throat, Jack scrambles to his feet. “Doctor, stop!”

The Doctor pauses, but not in response to Jack; he looks like he is counting, instead. He looks back momentarily, winks at Jack as he lunges toward him, and yells, “Geronimo!” as he jumps.

Jack falls to his knees at the edge, hoping it is a trick, hoping to see the Doctor grinning up at him from a floor down, hoping - but he can’t see the bottom of the shaft, only the Doctor, falling. Jack launches himself at Haalu but the gravity is wrong again and he goes sprawling to the floor beyond her. “Where does it go?” he yells at her as he climbs back to his feet. “ _Where does it go?_ ”

-+-+-+-

 


	4. Broken lines

_Three, two, one_ \- the Doctor reaches out and catches hold of the ladder at the side of the shaft, tucking his legs in to brace against the side as well as he arrests his fall. He still has mass and momentum, of course, but he jumped as the artificial gravity began to decrease and at its minimum it is not a difficult feat. The panicked yelling echoing down suggests Jack was not as quick on the uptake as he was hoping, unfortunately; he’ll probably have some ruffled feathers to soothe when Jack finds him.

Worth it, though. Life has been _boring_ lately.

Whistling tunelessly, riding the adrenaline, the Doctor clatters down the ladder as his acceleration downwards normalises. Still a bit of a wobble to it, but now that he has it all worked out it won’t catch him by surprise. The shaft is just about his armspan in width, the perfect size for jumping down and quite comfortable for climbing, but very echo-y; the way his whistling bounces around is amusing but he is fairly certain calling back up to reassure Jack would be indistinguishable from a cry for help.

A few more levels of climbing and the Doctor comes to a hatch blocking his way: the entrance to the original habitat module. It slides open easily with a nudge from his sonic, and in he goes, closing it behind him. The air is still breathable, if a bit thin and very stale, and the boxy, patchily lit corridors are pleasantly nostalgic. These old things were built to last forever, or near as could be managed, and yet here it lies, buried and discarded, forgotten in all current station records, not two thousand years later. He jogs along until he finds a suitable control terminal.

Shutting the artificial gravity off is somewhat more complicated than turning it on had been, at least if it is ever going to work again. The Doctor isolates as many inputs from the new station as he can, in hopes of preventing another power surge from disrupting things, then shuts the station back down to hibernation, sans gravity. It occurs to him too late that that probably caused a sizeable, if hopefully short-lived, disruption in the station above. With a fatalistic shrug, the Doctor makes his way back to the hatch he entered through, and up.

Jack is not waiting for him; the Doctor finds himself both surprised and unexpectedly disappointed. Neither is Technician Haalu. Her assistant Suresh is, though, leaning against the wall watching the Doctor haul himself out of the shaft. “There you are. Like a bit of drama, do you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Doctor replies with all the dignity he can muster as he scrabbles for a hand hold on the floor and rolls to his feet.

“I’m sure you do. Your _assistant_ ,” Suresh smirks, “gave us all quite an earful. Technician Haalu asked me to convey her thanks for fixing the gravity and her sincere wish for your travels to continue without further interruption.” The unstated _promptly_ comes through quite well. He stands, and holds out his hand; the Doctor frowns but takes it briefly. “So thank you, and please leave before Mister Harkness returns; he’s going to yell again and I’d as soon miss it.”

Sighing, the Doctor steps away from him, then pauses. The room has six exits, not counting _up_ and _down_ which he can pretty well discount. He would have noticed if Jack had taken the quick way down. “Erm… which way?”

“He went that way,” Suresh says, pointing to the exit to the Doctor’s left. Not entirely certain _where did Jack go_ was the question he wanted answered, the Doctor sets off. It doesn’t _feel_ like Jack is this way; in fact, he doesn’t feel nearby at all. The corridor leads to a set of lifts and the Doctor follows Jack’s beacon up, and up, and around the no-longer-queasy circumferential lifts, and up again to the concourse, where he looks around puzzled, wondering if Jack has gone to the shops without him.

With an oddly noticeable lack of sound, and a painful sizzling sort of temporal disturbance, Jack steps out of nothing five metres ahead of him. Stopping in his tracks, the Doctor quickly revises his estimate of _ruffled feathers_ significantly upward in severity. “Jack -”

Jaw clenched, face flushed, Jack looks absolutely furious as he stalks toward the Doctor. “You do not do the stupid, dangerous, potentially deadly stunts,” he grinds out through bared teeth, grabbing the Doctor’s upper arms and shaking him to punctuate his words. “ _I_ do the stupid, dangerous, potentially deadly stunts. _Not you!_ ” There is terror beneath his fury, terror and residual panic and a vast relief.

“Jack,” the Doctor says, soothingly, “I’m fine. See?”

“You could just as easily have been _very not fine!_ You could have told me; you could have _sent_ me. You could have just climbed down the fucking ladder like someone who has any consideration at all for people who - for other people! What were you thinking?” He is looking very stubborn, and gives the Doctor a final shake for emphasis.

“I was thinking _that looks like fun_ ,” the Doctor replies, annoyance making honesty into a weapon. “I’ve been doing stupid, dangerous stunts for longer than you’ve been alive, Captain, I’m not going to start asking permission.” Not likely; he rarely does so in any context.

“Or thinking first!” Jack exclaims, glaring at him in frustration.

Raising his brows sceptically, the Doctor points out, “I do think first. Brain the size of mine?” He cups Jack's elbows gently, pushes them outward until he lets go. “But I've had more lives than almost everyone I've traveled with, and I’m not interested in breaking a habit of centuries. _I run toward the bomb_ , Jack.” He watches the color drain from Jack's face as memories resurface, of a younger Doctor and a mortal Jack Harkness.

Finally Jack looks down. “Alright,” he says, swallowing. “Alright. Sorry. I just…”

Point sufficiently made, the Doctor hooks a hand behind his neck and pulls him into a fierce kiss, this time with no hint of apology. Jack’s eyes go wide in surprise before fluttering closed; he opens his mouth and his hands are on the Doctor’s back, pulling him close. After not nearly long enough, the Doctor pushes him gently away so as not to get lost in his glorious blaze. “I know,” he says, “I do know.” Jack nods, looking slightly dazed. “But you can't keep me safe.”

One side of Jack’s mouth curves up in wry acknowledgement. “I can't keep you at all; who could.” He doesn't betray, by word or deed, that he desperately wishes to do so, and the Doctor wishes he didn't know; it seems somehow obscene to know so intimately the fracture pattern of an unbroken heart.

“It was all quite predictable,” the Doctor says, by way of a much needed topic change, and sets off into the concourse to look for those delightful little shops, towing Jack along by the hand. “Once I figured out the habitat module was there, I had all the variables in place. Et voila, time my jump right and I look… well, just as smart as I am. I mean, once you realise I didn't just jump to my death; I take it _smart_ was not your first thought.” He glances at his lover, who is watching him with a look of fond exasperation. “But,” he adds indignantly, “it really should have been, Jack, honestly, how long have you known me?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Too long to start assuming every stupid thing you do is actually part of a secretly brilliant plan, Doc. Go find a new kid to impress if you want starry-eyed wonder.” Suddenly certain that _starry-eyed wonder_ is exactly what he wants to see next on Jack’s face, the Doctor turns to him just as he spins away, eye caught by something across the concourse. “Hold that thought, I’ve gotta -” he sends a radiant smile over his shoulder to the Doctor, gently pulls his hand away; the Doctor wonders if he truly is that transparent. “One more loose end to tie up, sorry -” He looks around quickly, points to what looks like a pub. “I’ll meet you in there, ten minutes.” With another quick smile, he runs off, intent as a hunting dog, and the Doctor stares after him until he is lost in the crowds.

\-------

The flash of wild blonde hair across the concourse is, as Jack suspected, unmistakable. River is not far from the clothing store he saw her leaving when he catches her up, meandering with uncharacteristic melancholy as she peers at shop displays. “What's a lovely lady like you doing in a bounce like this?”

She never seems startled by his appearance any more than the Doctor does, but the smile she gives him is not quite up to her usual quality. “Just looking for a good man.”

“Don't know any, but I'd be delighted to help you look,” Jack suggests, craning his head around helpfully. River elbows him; she seems to be shorter than usual. “I’m good at shoe shopping?”

“Well, I suppose you'll do then.” She loops her arm around his and pulls him into the next shop. “I thought you seemed rather unsurprised to see me. But you're not surprised this time either.”

“Ah. I suppose you won't tell me why you decided on a quick spot of shopping, then?”

“Sometimes a girl just needs something new,” she says as she steps into the sizing scanner. Jack doesn't ask what happened; River has a finely developed sense for spoilers. Unexpectedly she smirks at him. “Nothing to worry about, I promise; you’ll enjoy it. But don't tell him you saw me. _He_ was surprised.”

“That's what you said earlier, yeah. How about that one?” Any kind of footwear you could want here, it seems, and quite a good selection of boots with the heels River prefers. “Oh, River, _this one._ I could spend half an hour getting these off you.” Each cross of lace, he could use his teeth and she would feel the warmth of his breath, just a little; or maybe his mouth would be busy with that velvety skin behind her knee, and she -

She joins him at the display, taking his arm again. He can smell her light perfume; he’ll have to do something to mask it, before he returns to the Doctor. “That's quite the selling point… but I think something a little more practical for now. So when were you surprised to see me?” she asks, watching as Jack reluctantly looks for more practical boots.

“Just last time. These? Match your shirt. You still have _rescue Jack from certain death_ on your to-do list today.”

“Oh good, someone to shoot.” She sounds glad of the opportunity and Jack wraps his arm around her.

“I don't think you did,” he says apologetically. “Or if you did this is a bigger mess than I thought. He came around and finished the job later. Again.”

“ _Jack_.” River steps back and glares at him. “You _know_ what it does to him when you die, can’t you at least _try_ to be careful?” They’ve switched _him_ s all of a sudden, it seems, and it hardly seems fair, everyone telling him how much distress _he_ causes the Doctor, when he is trying his best and the Doctor goes about throwing himself into pits.

“No,” Jack says, not quite able to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I don’t. I’ve always been dead at the time, you may recall.” The next page has the very boots he saw her wearing earlier, and he points at them with certainty. “These.” But River isn’t looking at the display at all, instead searching his face quizzically.

“It’s early days for both of you, then,” she says. “I’m sorry, honey. Well, if those are the boots, let’s have them.” She orders the boots Jack picked without really looking at them, putting them on Jack’s account; he wonders momentarily how she paid for the clothes. Then with a thoughtful look, she sits down to wait for them, pulling Jack with her. “You need to get back?”

Shaking his head, Jack taps his vortex manipulator and smiles. “I am back. At your disposal, love. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure he can’t smell you on me.”

“Oh. Good, sorry, I…” She shrugs, looking melancholy again. “I was just thinking, if I don’t get to take this guy out later, why don't we go do it now?”

Jack opens his mouth to respond he knows not what, because suddenly the broken lines of events are connecting in his mind. A mission aborted because someone had already retrieved his mark; the mark still waiting here to kill him on his reappearance. “That,” he says, grinning at River in happy conspiracy, “would do very nicely.”

\-------

Feeling rather out of sorts, the Doctor secures himself a glass of water and makes his way to a table. Jack is already here; Jack has _been_ here, drawing the Doctor upward on his search earlier. Provided this is not yet another confusing loop of Jack’s timeline, he has gone somewhere and returned early, but where is he -? The Doctor hears his voice before spotting him, which it turns out is because he has someone green sitting _in his lap_ , arm about his shoulders, whilst he entertains a table of assorted beings with one of his ridiculous stories. He looks quite comfortably ensconced; the burn of possessive jealousy that suddenly consumes the solitary Time Lord, on the other hand, leaves him sitting very uncomfortably indeed.

He tries telling himself it’s not his business; he tries reminding himself that Jack cannot be owned, no matter how they sometimes play; he tries distracting himself by doodling in Gallifreyan with the drops of condensation from his water. But the water makes for muddled words, and Jack is right there, being his usual gregarious self, gesturing with one hand and _where is the other?_ It’s becoming unbearable, and he is having trouble remembering that this is not _his_ Jack who would do this sort of thing with a devil-may-care flair and a wicked glance from the corner of his eye, just waiting for the Doctor to break and drag him away in a jealous fit. Right now, Jack probably doesn’t even know he’s here, much less the effect he is having on his lover.

But perhaps it’s time he learned.

The Doctor realises he is staring, and gives up on _ten minutes_. Abandoning his glass, he dashes the writing from the table and makes his way to Jack’s unoccupied shoulder. Leaning down to his lover’s ear, he asks, “Am I interrupting something?” in a tone of voice he hasn’t heard from himself since… well, since last time Jack provoked it of him, presumably.

“Doctor!” Jack interrupts himself, twisting around to look up at him; then he pauses, arrested by whatever he sees in the Doctor’s face. He nods, and turns back to the table with a charming smile. “Sorry, lovelies, some other time. Boss is calling.” He kisses his pretty green companion, and if the Doctor thought he was jealous before -! Stands and settles her in his chair, then turns and nods again to the Doctor. Room full of people watching or no, it is all the Doctor can do to turn and walk away, when there is nothing he wants more than to throw himself into that welcoming fire, warm himself against Jack’s steady burning flame, pin him against the wall and… _that_ is decidedly not a helpful thought, right at the moment.

“Boss, right,” he can hear someone mutter as he walks away, Jack's deep well of eternity following close behind him which is a heady rush all on its own. “My _boss_ never looks at me like that.”

And then they're out of the pub, out of the crowd, out from under all those eyes, and the Doctor glances over his shoulder. “You have a room nearby?”

Brows shooting up, eyes wide, Jack looks comically surprised for a moment before an anticipatory grin steals across his face. “Oh yeah. Should do, anyway, I was paid up for the month. Section eight, B62. Small,” he adds, catching the Doctor up and settling an arm about his waist, “but private.” Glancing over again, the Doctor sees Jack watching him with eager amusement; he licks his lips deliberately and the Doctor closes his eyes, trying to smother both his groan and the urge to push Jack into any random corner and stake his claim right there. He speeds up, striding purposefully toward the lifts which just makes it harder to ignore the feel of Jack’s leg pressed close to his. Jack chuckles. “Never thought I'd see the day. Jealous much?”

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor growls. “Much.” Jack stares at him, wide-eyed, and the Doctor speeds up again.

-+-+-+-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If anyone knows what fic "I run toward the bomb" is from, I'd be much obliged. It was a Nine & Jack, Jack trying to prove himself sort of thing, and the line/scene but unfortunately not the title stuck in my head._


	5. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

The lift takes interminable seconds, and Jack's room is too far away, and he _smiles_ at people they pass which just stokes the fire burning in the Doctor's chest even though Jack's hold on him never loosens. Mercifully the room is still let to Jack, and he ushers the Doctor in with a cheerful leer, turning to lock the door. Completely out of patience, the Doctor crowds up against him, smooths his hands up his lover's sides and buries his nose in the back of his hair, breathing in that enticing mess of pheromones he has learned to love and trying to ignore the lingering scents of others who have been making free with _his_ Jack.

“Doctor.” Jack sounds amused, and makes no effort to escape. “You know I’m yours whenever you want me.” In light of what he has done in Jack’s future, that is a terrifying assertion, and the Doctor tries to forget it. He nuzzles at Jack’s neck, fingers creeping into his pockets to explore his thighs, pull their hips together. Unable to ignore the other scents, he trails his lips down Jack’s neck and bites down at the curve of his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, startling a gasp out of him. “But I have to say,” Jack’s voice is close to a moan, and the Doctor knows _exactly_ what expression is on his face, “this is not an effective way to discourage flirting on my part.”

Licking carefully at the bite mark, the Doctor smiles. Sometimes it’s fun, the way their timelines are out of synch; Jack knew him better than he knew himself, but now it is his turn to be ahead. “It’s not meant to,” he murmurs into his lover’s ear, and feels him shiver. “We both like me like this.”

“Oh, gods,” Jack groans, leaning back against him. “Any time -” Pulling his hands out of Jack’s pockets, the Doctor presses one firmly to the front of his Captain’s trousers, and whatever else he was going to say gets completely lost. “- mm _nngh_.”

Laughing delightedly, the Doctor steps back and spins Jack around. His face is flushed and his eyes so bright, all the light the Doctor needs to guide his way shining in their clear blue depths. “There's my starry-eyed wonder. _I want you_ , Jack.”

Jack blinks, then shakes himself with a gasp like he is surfacing for air and hisses, “Fuck, _yes_.” He lunges forward, capturing the Doctor’s mouth in a fierce kiss, one hand sliding up into his hair, the other thrust inside the back of his trousers. Jack’s tongue is glorious fire in his mouth, never enough of that, _never_ ; darting here and there, sliding against his own tongue, drawing ticklish sparks on the roof of his mouth. The Doctor’s fingers are working distractedly at shirt buttons and Jack’s hand in his trousers is squeezing roughly but right now that seems perfect, an enthusiastic claiming of each other.

Frustrated by the buttons, the Doctor pulls back slightly and orders, “Shirt off!”

Jack chuckles. “If you insist.” He pulls his hand and the Doctor’s shirt out of his trousers all at once, unclips his braces rapid-fire and sets to the buttons. Jack has apparently had much more practice unbuttoning other people’s shirts, which seems very unfair to the Doctor.

“I meant yours,” the Doctor grumbles; Jack kisses him again. Finally succeeding with the buttons, he realises Jack is wearing a vest underneath, still blocking his access to skin. “Why are you wearing a vest?”

“Because I wear a vest?” Now Jack is laughing at him.

“Since _when?_ Oh, nevermind.” The Doctor pushes the vest over Jack’s head, then, struck by sudden inspiration, slides it down his arms and twists the fabric until it forms impromptu cuffs at his wrists.

“Oh,” Jack says appreciatively. “You remembered.”

“Hush,” the Doctor says, pleased. “If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.” Jack smothers another laugh, but shuts up. “That was good, wasn’t it. Someone said it in a film, I think. There, now.” He leans in to kiss Jack again, more gently, whilst he sheds the shirt Jack has so expeditiously unbuttoned for him. “Just the way I like you.”

Jack, cheeky ape that he is, winks at him. “What, only half naked and unable to help you with that?” He nods toward the bulge at the front of the Doctor’s trousers.

“Hush, I said! No.” Staring into his lover’s eyes, the Doctor grips his jaw, pressing his palm firmly against Jack’s throat. “ _Mine_.” Eyes wide, Jack swallows against his hand, suddenly still. “If that’s alright,” the Doctor adds. One of those things he _had_ better ask permission for. Jack nods quickly, his pulse fluttering against the Doctor’s fingers. “Good, then. But no false modesty, Captain; you’re not at all unable.” He draws Jack after him further into the room, finding a table to lean against, and savors the joyful, hungry look on his lover’s face as he pushes him to his knees.

\-------

_Provoke jealous Time Lord_ firmly moved to Jack’s _repeat as soon as possible_ list, he drops to his knees on the slightly springy floor and leans forward to nuzzle the smooth fabric covering his lover’s cock. As he turns his head to mouth gently, he hears the Doctor’s breath catch and feels his hand come to rest lightly on his head, stroke his hair. There is an intimacy to it, despite or maybe because of the clothes in the way, that he expects the Doctor to back them away from at any moment. Pressing a little harder, Jack drags his jaw slowly up.

“Jack,” the Doctor moans; Jack kisses the bare skin of his belly, smooth and cool, and feels him shudder. “My Jack…”

He’s not backing away and Jack wonders if maybe he is dreaming again, because that’s just right, exactly right. For all the pain Jack’s unnatural immortality causes him, for all the long years between visits, for everything between them in the past… he keeps coming back. And for all Jack has sometimes thought there must be something very wrong with him, to keep loving this man through it all, there’s no doubt he _has;_ abjectly, completely, unequivocally. He will, he suspects, forever.

And that’s just right as well.

Tracing just above the Doctor’s trousers with his tongue, cheek pressed to his belly, Jack indulges himself briefly with the taste of his skin, slightly salty from sweat. Before it becomes too tickly for the Doctor he dips his tongue beneath the waistband; he is just able to brush the Doctor’s cock and he gasps, hand clenching briefly in Jack’s hair. His other hand moves quickly to unbutton his fly, then Jack nudges the hand away and, glancing up to watch his face, takes the zipper pull between his teeth and lowers it slowly. The Doctor is staring at him, eyes dark, mouth slightly open, and as Jack mouths the head of his cock, covered only by the thin fabric of his pants now, his eyes fall closed and he groans.

“What am I to do with you, Captain? Such a tease.” Impatiently he shoves his trousers and pants down, freeing his cock and setting it firm and demanding against Jack’s lips. Jack opens his mouth obediently as the Doctor slips a hand into his hair, gripping tightly and guiding him forward. The Doctor cries out as he does so, a drawn-out musical sound and Jack moans, trousers painfully tight with the smell of him heavy in his nose, cock heavy on his tongue. “Your mouth,” the Doctor gasps as he thrusts shallowly, holding Jack’s head still. “Rassilon, your mouth - it makes me crazy, smelling them on you -”

What a _crazy_ , though; Jack suspects his fantasies will be populated by surprise appearances from a jealous Doctor for quite a while. He rocks his hips, trying to relieve some of his discomfort, readjust things a bit, but the Doctor notices and pushes Jack’s head back with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Given your style of _entertaining_ , I expect you have some toys stashed around here somewhere. Where are they?”

Startled, Jack laughs; he must have been a very, _very_ good boy at some point. With a nod toward the dresser by the bed, he grins up at his lover. “Bottom drawer. Make yourself at home.”

Brows drawing down, the Doctor gives Jack’s head a little shake and says again, “ _Hush_. Make all the noise you want, but no talking. You hide behind words; don’t hide from me.” Grin falling away, Jack stares up at him, feeling a flush rising to his cheeks. Not just silence the Doctor is asking, but _honesty_ ; the kind of honesty Jack doesn’t often offer. He has ordered Jack to silence before, but not like this. Feeling naked in a way that has nothing to do with clothing, Jack slowly nods. Approval in his eyes, the Doctor caresses his cheek briefly, then hooks a hand under his arm. “Get up, Captain.” His eyes are fixed on Jack’s mouth as he stands. Jack licks his swollen lips which earns him a _fascinatingly_ needy sound and the Doctor leans into him as if drawn by a magnet - and then he has captured Jack’s tongue and there is a hand squeezing his cock and Jack groans helplessly as his knees go weak and his eyes roll back in his head.

And then his trousers are around his knees, and the Doctor is stepping to the side, and there is a hand on his back pushing him down onto the table the Doctor was leaning on, all a bewildering whirlwind; he is playing Jack like a favourite tune and when did he learn to do that? “Stay there,” the Doctor orders, and steps away.

Jack wouldn’t have moved if the room were on fire. He watches the Doctor take off his boots and remove the remainder of his disarranged clothing, setting it neatly over the back of a chair and gathering his shirt and jacket to join it; he is in no hurry to provide Jack any relief, apparently. Jack squirms a bit, not that it does any good.

“Alright there, Captain?” Jack nods; it’s a very enjoyable sort of misery. “Well,” the Doctor says, watching him sidelong as he crouches, lanky and powerful, to the drawer Jack indicated, “we’ll see if we can’t do something about that.”

A shiver of delighted anticipation rushes through Jack; he doesn’t try to hide it and the Doctor grins, that disarmingly boyish grin. He gathers a few things, hiding them from Jack, and smirks as Jack cranes his head trying in vain to keep him in view. There’s the pop of a cap but the next thing Jack feels is the Doctor’s hands on his arse, parting his cheeks, and then, soft and wet and unexpected, his tongue. Jack lays his head down and sighs in utter contentment. The Doctor is either a quick learner or has unexpected experience, but wondering is much less fun than experiencing so Jack goes with it. The first teasing brush of fingers against his cock makes him jump, and the second one too; the Doctor continues his maddening torment until Jack is whining in need, until he can hardly keep from begging. Surely desperate pleas would be as satisfying, as honest, as his silence? Before he quite convinces himself to try, the Doctor pulls away and there is something hard and slick pushing into him. He recognises the selection; not complicated but effective, it will stay there pressed against his prostate, shifting whenever he moves, or - “Ahhh!” he cries against the table, as the Doctor pushes experimentally on his toy.

“Fascinating,” the Doctor murmurs. “Oh, Captain.” There is a quiet delight in his voice that is completely mesmerising, and Jack shivers as cool fingertips trail up his spine. He would do almost anything to hear the Doctor sound like that. “How long would it take,” the Time Lord muses, “for you to come if I touched you now? If I sucked you? Oh - you like that.” Jack is panting, lightheaded, unable to keep from imagining; his cock is painfully hard. The Doctor leans forward to lick his ear, smooths a hand over his arse, whispers, “If I spanked you? Could you come from that?”

Suddenly burning with the need to find out, Jack presses back against his lover’s hand, moaning high and desperate as the toy shifts inside him. The Doctor rubs firmly, moving it again, and then with his left hand on Jack’s back to steady him, brings his hand down hard on Jack’s arse. He cries out, words truly lost to him now, and everywhere the Doctor touches is fire. His hand comes down again and again, slow and relentless, and every time it’s a deep shock of pleasure under the growing sting, the throbbing ache of his cock as it bobs heavily with each strike. It is magnificent, and with what little thought Jack has left to him he is almost disappointed to find he really is going to come, and soon. Biting his lip, he tries to hold on.

“Stop fighting it, Captain,” the Doctor orders. “I’m not done with you yet.” Jack can’t deny him; his hand comes down next right on top of the toy and Jack sobs as the orgasm rips through him, release without relief. The Doctor’s hand is circling soothingly on his back as he catches his breath, but his cock still aches for touch. He hopes he can bear it when the Doctor finally does. “Jack, my Jack,” the Doctor murmurs, fingers now running through his hair. “That was marvelous. What else can I coax from you today, I wonder?”

_Anything,_ Jack thinks muzzily, _if you want the stars I’ll roll up the night sky like a tapestry and bring it to you_ \- but no, that’s a song from his childhood and the Doctor already has the stars, more than that child could have imagined. He pushes his head into his lover’s hand, craving all the touch he can get whilst he recovers. Obligingly the Doctor draws him gently upright and lets Jack drape against him, holding him up; he can’t entirely suppress the pained, stuttering noise as his cock slides against the Doctor’s hip. He is not meant to try, he remembers, no suppressing, no hiding. The toy inside him is still nudging at his prostate and it is a delightful torture. The Doctor chuckles and pulls him closer, and as he groans helplessly, eyes sliding closed, Jack finally gives up all notions of controlling any part of this encounter and surrenders.

\-------

There is a subtle shift when Jack gives in, sets aside that blazing will that has carried him through so many years, so much pain; the Doctor can always tell. Although loathe to give up any bit of contact with Jack’s anchoring stability, the Doctor sets him carefully upright again, gentling his shudders with firm strokes of palms over arms still obediently restrained. He carefully shifts his hips and Jack, eyes still closed, makes an exquisitely desperate sound; not too much, just enough to keep him deep in this misery he loves to hate. “I’ll take care of you,” the Doctor promises quietly, as he threads fingers through short hair and tilts his Captain’s head down. He is annoyingly tall at the moment; the wrong one of them has their boots off. Jack’s lips open readily under his and he moves without resistance as the Doctor backs him with shuffling steps toward the bed. Every other step wrings a small, sharp cry from him.

“So trusting, Captain. So very willing to let me have my way with you.” As they reach the bed he pushes down on Jack’s broad shoulders. He sits, blindly, with a breathtaking moan as his arse makes contact with the bed, and the Doctor nearly swallows his tongue at the look on his face. He has taken Jack for granted at times in the past, but he is no longer that man, he hopes; this kind of trust should be treasured. Dropping to one knee, he begins loosening Jack’s boots.

“I could keep you like this, Captain,” he muses as he pulls off the left boot; Jack’s weight shifts as he does so and another sharp cry escapes him. Right boot next, then trousers slipped from left foot, then from right, and by the end of that Jack is whining through his teeth, jaw clamped tightly. “For a long, long time. The look on your face… Anguish and exaltation and such _desire_. My Jack. You are a truly magnificent sight.” The Doctor leans forward and exhales over Jack’s cock, and finally what little control he had retained is utterly broken; he curls forward and sobs, and the Doctor pushes his knees up and tips him backward, turning him to set his legs on the bed. “I’d never guess you’d already come. Greedy thing today, aren’t you.” His own cock is heavy and aching, but Jack’s condition looks downright painful, unrelenting stimulation after his first orgasm leaving him trapped in this hypersensitive state. His breath is coming in labored gasps, head tilted back; his skin is flushed, his cock slick and angry red. Settling himself astride Jack’s right leg, the Doctor rocks back and forth absently, fingers playing along the length of his other thigh, watching the slow return of coherence now that his weight is off his prostate. Pulling his knee up a bit to further relieve the pressure, Jack opens his eyes, glazed and distant.

“There you are,” the Doctor murmurs delightedly. “You’re so beautiful like this. You’re always beautiful,” he clarifies, and Jack’s eyes focus on his face in surprise; out of character for the man Jack expects, perhaps, but he can’t help it. “But I can’t imagine a better look for you than this, so desperate for me.” It is downright intoxicating, the way Jack is looking at him now, eyes full of need and trust and behind them all the things he can’t yet say. “So desperate for any -” he draws a finger down the crease where leg meets groin and Jack exhales a sudden shocked sigh, cock jerking up in reaction. “Little -” Leaning down the Doctor blows gently; Jack’s hips buck and he cries out as the toy inside him shifts again. The Doctor grins wickedly. “Touch,” he concludes, and, in a coup de grâce he is rather proud of, he swallows the burning brand of his lover’s straining cock entire. Back arching completely off the bed, Jack comes with a hoarse, breathless shout.

Pulling away gently as Jack gradually relaxes back down, the Doctor’s satisfied smirk suddenly turns to a frown. He taps Jack’s chest. “Breathe, Captain.” With a _whoosh_ of air, he inhales, still staring blankly at the ceiling. The Doctor nods. “Much better. Keep breathing.” Carefully removing the toy he has had so much fun with, eliciting a low grown from his lover, the Doctor drops it to the floor. He leans forward to rest his head on Jack’s chest, without putting much weight on him; just for the closeness, just to hear that constant heartbeat, just to make sure he keeps breathing. Sometimes Jack goes down so far he needs someone to look after him for a bit; it does seem unlikely he would let just anyone take him so far, come to think of it. Smiling, jealousy appeased for now, the Doctor licks gently at his chest, that unique essence of _Jack_ permeating his senses, sweat and skin and spice and pheromones and the tingle of artron energy, the searing stillness that is his very existence underlying it all.

Jack shifts, and it is the Doctor’s turn to groan; he has had no relief yet and his cock slides slickly against Jack’s hip. A lazy grin begins spreading across Jack’s face, and he moves again. “Captain,” the Doctor warns, lifting his head, “don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“Try me,” Jack drawls, gazing up at him, eyes half lidded, voice roughened; the effect is entirely more enticing than the Doctor would ever care to admit.

He strokes Jack’s arm, trapped beneath him. “Uncomfortable?”

“No.” Jack smirks. “Jealousy satisfied?”

Scowling, the Doctor bites his nipple, not overly gently. “Not if you’re going to be cheeky about it.”

“Good. You were right, I like you like this.”

Raising his brows, the Doctor says, “Of course I was right. Now hush, whilst I decide what to do with you.” Jack doesn’t reply, instead licks his lips slowly, deliberately, and slides his hip against the Doctor’s cock again, holding his gaze the while. “Jack,” he groans, “You’re just as bad without words, I don’t know why I _bother_ -” and then the noise of the door sliding open interrupts him and both he and Jack are robbed of a significant portion of the pleasant haze they’ve been lost in by a jolt of unwanted situational awareness.

-+-+-+-

 


	6. Start Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

A terrifyingly familiar voice drifts in and the Doctor finds himself considering the potential benefits of spontaneous combustion. “Jack! Fancy my surprise when I picked up your comm code… ohhh. Oh, Jack, you’ve got me a present, you shouldn’t have!” Slowly sitting back up, the Doctor refuses to turn around, instead staring at Jack with who knows what on his face. Jack looks far too amused - he probably thinks it’s an _improvement_ \- but he shakes his head at the Doctor’s raised brows; he didn’t invite her. Not that she has ever needed an invitation, in the Doctor’s experience.

Sighing, he looks over his shoulder toward the door. “River,” he greets her with poorly concealed dismay.

“Hello, sweetie. And already unwrapped!” She is prowling closer, and the Doctor can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just hoping to catch up with our Jack here. I see he's a trifle indisposed at the moment, though.” She is peering around him now and it’s completely intolerable, _our Jack_ indeed, he has never pretended to be only the Doctor's, but when he _is_ -

Jealousy reignited, he twists around abruptly and snarls into her face, “He's _mine_.” There comes a soft exhale from behind him, not quite a moan, and Jack goes more pliant beneath him.

River, who can see both of them now, takes a step back and looks back and forth between their faces. “Oh, my. He certainly is. I hadn’t… quite realised, I think. I'm sorry.” Her expression turns inward, unreadable. “I'll see you some other time, then.”

 _Some other time_ … The Doctor glances down at Jack, who cuts a glance toward River and widens his eyes in what the Doctor can only call a significant look. Wondering what he is getting himself into, the Doctor stops her as she turns to leave. “River… When is this for you?”

She turns back and gives him a wary look. “You've done 1969?” He nods. “Demon's Run? Of course,” at his unhappy nod. “Jim the Fish?”

“Still no.”

“Ah. I… really had better go. Good to see you.” But her eyes have gone sad now and the Doctor has become dangerously curious.

“Are you telling me,” he demands, “that at some point it will be perfectly sensible for you to _stay_ , if you walk in on, erm…” Now he is sure he's blushing absolutely crimson. “A _situation_ like this?”

Fighting a losing battle to keep the smirk off her face, River says sweetly, “Spoilers!”

Not usually an exhibitionist, the Doctor is starting to remember the thrill of flaunting his possession of Jack before an interested audience; River’s eyes keep drifting to him where he lies calm and silent beneath the Doctor. “Jack wants you to stay,” he says abruptly, not at all sure what he is doing; but it’s true enough.

He has her full attention, now. Giving him an appraising look, she observes, “It's not up to him,” which gets an appreciative moan from Jack. She glances at him again with a smile. “We've met, haven't we, honey?”

Jack apparently can't resist, and carols, “Spoilers!” at her.

“I _will_ gag you,” the Doctor interjects crossly. He is _not_ letting River ruin all his hard work, no matter what they get up to when he’s not around - which is an extremely distracting thought that he is _not_ going to pursue, because that is not how this works. Obediently, Jack presses his lips together, but he is still far too amused.

River's smile turns positively devilish. “I've been wondering, why wasn't Jack at Demon’s Run? He certainly wouldn't have turned you down.”

“There were, erm. Some timeline difficulties,” the Doctor answers warily. It is never good, when River looks like that, but he can't see where this is going.

Her eyebrow raises, and she glances ever so quickly past him to Jack. “Timeline difficulties?”

“He forgot!” Jack crows, indignantly. “He _forgot_ about me.” Then, too late, his jaw snaps closed, but River is already grinning delightedly. For once the Doctor was not the target of her humor, apparently.

With a quelling glare to Jack, the Doctor points to the chair where his clothes are laid. “Hand me that,” he directs River, and she hands over his tie. “Regeneration, you know,” he says, only slightly defensively, as he fastens the tie into a makeshift gag for Jack. “Don't always get everything back the way it should be. I'm not forgetting about you now.” The gag seems to have replaced some of Jack's amusement with more appropriate submission; he is watching the Doctor quietly again, eyes calm and dark. “Well,” the Doctor concedes, turning back to River, “you've obviously met Jack. Stay, then, for all of me; I never know what's going on when you're around.” Then a terrible thought occurs to him. “But if you _ever_ mention this to your parents…”

Jack looks boggled, but River just smiles at him. “You always say that.”

\-------

 _Didn't seem surprised to see her_ indeed; she had failed to mention that he would nearly kill himself trying not to laugh. It would have got the Doctor's back up terribly, and probably made the situation unrecoverable. River has a positive talent for managing him but she clearly wasn't expecting a Doctor who blushes at her presence.

Content to lay back and watch, Jack does just that; gagged, bound, and shockingly well shagged, there isn't much he would choose to change. Possibly a few pillows, for better watching. Maybe it is that little bit of telepathy that makes the Doctor so surprisingly good at giving him what he needs, but it isn’t helping him with River. “I said you could stay,” the Doctor is grumbling. “I didn't say you could _share_ him.”

And they're arguing over _Jack_ , which is fascinating in so many ways. Arms crossed obstinately, head lowered, the Doctor stares River down, blocking her from the bed.

“Jack doesn’t mind,” she points out, which is true.

“It’s not up to him,” the Doctor bites out, which is _also_ true and sends another pleasant frisson through Jack besides. Finding himself the object of this unexpectedly jealous, possessive mood in the man he has spent almost all his life waiting for is truly delightful. It would be less fun if he expected Jack to change his behaviour somehow, but it is clear he doesn’t; he as much as told Jack to carry on.

“So,” River says, with a slow smile, “if you're not sharing him, are he and I sharing you?”

Opening his mouth, the Doctor pauses; Jack can't see his face well, but he suspects consternation. The Doctor glances down at him, and yes, that about describes it. Jack gives him a wide-eyed look and a shrug, hiding his amusement; it's not up to him, after all.

“I may not have thought this through,” the Time Lord admits, losing some of the adversarial stance.

River pauses in laying her jacket over the back of the second chair. “If you want me to go -” she offers, but the Doctor shakes his head.

“No, it's only - well, there has to be a first time, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she whispers, “there does,” and Jack winces. Living all out of order to the Doctor as she does, River is terrified of first times; it is impossible to forget they may be the last, for her. It probably explains the melancholy mood earlier.

Holding a hand out to her, apparently oblivious to the subtext, the Doctor invites, “Show me?”

Hiding the sadness between one breath and the next, River smiles at him, takes his hand and reaches for the other. “Start here,” she suggests, setting his hands at the hem of her jumper. Then she reaches up to coax his head down and kisses him gently. They have gone from fighting over Jack to completely forgetting about him, which, well, he likes watching, too; especially watching these two. The Doctor is skittish as a wild horse with River, and it is a rare treat for Jack to see him like this, nervous and uncertain, being gradually won over by sweeties. There is none of that left in their relationship; there never really was. For all Jack had always wanted more, it had been, ultimately, about needs and not wants, and in large part has continued to be. Even today, maybe; or maybe today something changed.

It occurs to Jack to wonder if River has a respiratory bypass too. The Doctor is making interesting little noises every so often, and his hands are fisted in River’s jumper. Her hands are smoothing firmly up and down his back, calming, keeping him close. Finally breaking away, the Doctor rests his forehead against hers. “River,” he breathes, and is still for a moment. Her eyes are open, storing up every memory she can. Then he pulls her jumper over her head, and she pushes him backward until he falls onto the bed with a yelp, right in the empty space between Jack’s bent elbow and his hip. Jack is glad to have him back, even if he is only going to be the backrest for this act, and shifts slightly to better curve around him.

Casting a fond glance back, the Doctor observes, “I suppose you are.” He raises his hands to River’s hips, rubbing his thumbs gently just above her trousers.

“Are?” she repeats, bemused smile tugging at her lips.

“Sharing me.” Leaning forward, he kisses her belly and she shivers.

Fingers carding the Doctor’s hair, she looks down at Jack. “We’re good at sharing. You don't look terribly comfortable, Jack.”

“He said he was!” the Doctor protests, as if accused of negligence. He also turns to stare at Jack, and that is a heady amount of attention to be the focus of -!

Jack shrugs, unsure what to do. He is comfortable enough; elbows bent, his hands lay flat next to each other under the small of his back. After a while it will strain his shoulders, but he is certainly fine for now. On the other hand… he waggles an elbow questioningly.

“Oh, no.” River is smirking at him now; she knows very well how much he likes his hands in her hair. “I'm sure the Doctor has you tied up for a very good reason.”

“Yes,” the Time Lord interjects, looking mutinous at this evidence that he is, in fact, sharing Jack. “I do. Behave, Captain.”

“Still - pillows,” she decrees. “Sit up, Jack.” He tries, but it is rather difficult; the Doctor reaches over and pulls him up instead.

Brows drawing down, the Doctor considers him whilst River arranges the pillows. “I want to kiss you. Do you need the gag?” Jack shakes his head. He broke his silence because it was what River wanted, whatever the Doctor may think; it is remarkably easy to submit to their combined wills. “Good.” He unties it and Jack wets his lips eagerly, leans forward as the Doctor tugs at him and welcomes the tongue searching his mouth, insistent and possessive. Jack can taste himself and River both in the Doctor’s mouth and he groans hungrily, feels an improbable stirring of interest. Then River is there at his back, arm about his shoulders, holding them all together briefly. She kisses his head and pulls him away from the Doctor, and he goes without protest; the Doctor does not.

“River! You lied, you're rubbish at sharing.”

She steps away and winks at Jack; he relaxes back into the pillows to wait. “But, sweetie,” she purrs, “we're not sharing _him_.” Toeing her shoes off, she unfastens her trousers. Jack is watching appreciatively, from a much better angle it must be said; the Doctor, he is amused to see when he glances over, is too absorbed to comment, watching with a shell shocked expression that looks entirely too at home on his young face. How he can be so innocent with River and yet so domineering with him, Jack doesn't understand, but it is as heartbreaking as it is charmingly endearing. There is so much of his lover he will never have, no matter how long he lives. River catches his eyes and he gives her a small, rueful smile. They share because it lets them catch these bittersweet glimpses; they share because they both love the Doctor, and a burden shared is… at least slightly reduced. Her lips quirk up, and she returns her attention to the Doctor as she sheds her trousers. “We're sharing you,” she finishes, and steps forward. The Doctor, startled, falls backwards onto Jack, and yes, this is looking like a very good plan. River grins. “Yes, just there. Lean on Jack.”

\-------

Protesting almost by reflex, the Doctor says, “But Jack -”

River is unimpressed, and still advancing on him. “Is quite comfortable, and has already has his today.”

“What?”

“You tasted of him,” she says with a smirk.

“Oh. No, wait! How do you know -” _what he tastes like_ , he nearly wails but cuts himself off; not the right question but it’s _not fair_ and she is still smirking at him. Jack’s breath is warming his ear now, that comforting solidity at his back, and he has somehow ended up right where she wants him; right where they both want him. This has been turned around on him with dizzying speed. “It’s because I wouldn’t share, isn’t it,” he grumbles, and shudders as Jack licks his ear. “It’s payback.”

Knelt before him on the bed, still in her underthings, River reaches out and brushes her fingers through his hair, caresses the side of his face. “You can say no anytime, sweetie. I’m not here to force you into anything.” He doesn’t _want_ to say no, though, that’s the trouble. Surely he ought to feel far more awkward about this than he does, walked in on by a lover he’s not been with yet as he plays dominance games with another - alright, he does feel fairly awkward about it, but…

“Oh, come here.” Hooking a hand under her arm, he tugs her forward. With a very undignified noise she topples over, and it serves her right, but he catches her anyway and then they’re just a big pile. He hopes Jack doesn’t mind, but then he hears, feels, the rumble of his laughter and stops worrying about it.

River squirms and he groans and she laughs; it is such a carefree, uncalculated sound, so unlike what he has heard from her before, that it affects him just as much as the way she is pressed up against him. Suddenly he is back where he was before all this distraction and he needs _more_. Pulling River up, he claims her mouth more forcefully than the last time, biting lightly at her lip, thrusting his tongue inside to taste and explore. Her hands are braced on his thighs, fingers tracing ticklish patterns nearer and nearer to his neglected cock. Jack is moving around, to what purpose the Doctor is not sure; most of his attention is on those teasing fingers and his hips are twitching, trapped but attention-seeking -

River pushes herself away and all his distraction is suddenly gone. Jack has managed to insinuate his legs under the Doctor’s and is holding them splayed open, hooked over his shins. River sits back, looking them over appreciatively, and if there had been any hint of triumph or gloating in her eyes he would have moved, but there isn’t.

“I don’t -” he starts, but River smiles and interrupts him.

“Give it a minute. It’ll grow on you.” She leans down and the Doctor is made a convert as she licks a wet stripe up his aching cock. All objections fled, he cries out wordlessly and lets his head fall back limply against Jack’s shoulder, his rock in the shifting sands everything seems to have become all of a sudden. Jack is nuzzling him, kissing his temple, and River is doing clever, wonderful things with her tongue, but he has been at a slow boil for so long now, he needs - he needs -

“I know,” he thinks she whispers, but how could she, or how could he hear? And finally she does, lets him slide into that lovely mouth, not the overwhelming heat of Jack’s but wet and warm and welcoming and _new_ , all new. He tries to still his hips, be gentle with her.

“River,” he gasps, “River, oh, my -” He doesn’t know what he is trying to say and gives up, tilts his face up to Jack’s, searching for that fire; greedy, he’s the one who is greedy -! Jack’s tongue in his mouth and he’s lost, hips jerking, fingers clutching at the bedclothes, desperate cries rising from his throat.

Jack tenses and pulls away slightly, and the Doctor protests weakly, “Jack -” but he is staring toward the door with the terrifying look of a man ready to die in the next moment to protect what he loves. Stomach clenching more for the protectiveness than the potential threat, the Doctor looks toward the door as well, but it is only an appropriately terrified station official.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” she stammers, and closes the door again. She must have had an eyeful though, and the Doctor blushes hotly to imagine what a picture of debauchery they make.

“Doesn’t your door have a _lock?_ ” he moans, which makes River look up questioningly. “Don’t _stop_ ,” he protests, slipping a hand into her glorious mess of curls, “please don’t stop!” She grins, and hums happily, and doesn’t stop. After a moment Jack resumes kissing him as well, and the Doctor loses himself in the building flames again. They ignore the first chime from the door, and the indistinct voice, but it is too quickly followed by a second.

-+-+-+-

 


	7. You have been observed

After the second chime the voice overrides the intercom to be heard clearly in the room. “Human Jos Belanger,” the Doctor breaks away, groaning for the loss, and looks up at Jack, who shrugs acknowledgement, “you are wanted on suspicion of willful endangerment of habitat and illegal weapon fire,” (“Damn,” Jack mutters inexplicably, “didn’t take long enough.”) “- as well as knowingly harboring unregistered beings. An unregistered human, also with charges, has been traced to your quarters, and you have been observed in the company of an unregistered humanoid, species unknown.”

“Not too quick on the uptake, are they,” the Doctor grumbles, feeling the blush overtaking him again as he considers the most recent _observation_. River laughs, which is a terrible disappointment given what she had previously been doing with her mouth. “Don’t laugh, you were just as observed as I was!”

The voice doesn’t pause, however. “You are required to surrender yourself to Security immediately, as well as all beings currently occupying your quarters.”

“In your dreams,” River says, kneeling up, which puts things very solidly in the realm of _wet_ dreams, and the Doctor isn’t having any of that -!

“Put some clothes on,” he growls, but she just grins at him.

“Oh, sweetie, what good is it if they can’t see what they’re missing?” Jack laughs outright at that, and the Doctor bites his chin; but then the voice is back.

“Human Jos Belanger and associates, you are granted ten seconds to comply and open this door. If you do not, a non-lethal and quickly dissipating gas will render you unconscious.”

Jack sits up, dislodging the Doctor, and announces, “Playtime’s over, folks, not doing that again,” as he twists his hands to free them. “If I’d had any idea what we’d be doing…”

The Doctor untangles himself and lunges for his clothes, frustrated arousal quickly losing ground to rising adrenaline. “I fixed the gravity!” he protests indignantly as he tries to pull on his trousers and find his boots whilst he digs out the sonic screwdriver. “No one cared if I was registered when I was _fixing the gravity!_ ”

“You never make them pay.” River doesn’t even try for her clothes, just straps on her belt and blaster, pulling her jacket on as an afterthought. “They like that. Any way to disable this?” She sounds perfectly unconcerned.

Jack shakes his head, face twitching in suppressed laughter as he glances at her. “Not that any of us can manage in five seconds.” The Doctor, trousers mostly on, gives up on his boots and finally gets his sonic out just as Jack, naked but for the boots he has somehow got on whilst freeing his hands, asks, “Anyone planning on coming back?”

The Doctor says, “Why?” and River laughs and says, “Might do,” and Jack winks at her, grabs a pouch from a shelf and something from his trouser pocket, says, “I’ll take right,” and hits the door open key.

As the door opens, the same Security officer who walked in on them says, “Your cooperation is appreciated,” and then the Doctor is left staring at her as Jack and River shoot the four attending guards quicker than the Doctor can follow what’s happening.

“What? What are you doing?” he demands, and then River shoots the confused officer as well. “You shot them!”

“Yes, we did. Come on, sweetie.” She tugs at his arm but he frowns at her and doesn’t move.

“You didn’t need to shoot them!”

Jack grabs his other arm and says, “Yes, we did,” and River adds, “Don’t be a big baby, they’re just stunned. Come on, _run!_ ”

And so he finds himself, coat in one hand, holding up his unfastened trousers with the other, running down a corridor in an inconveniently well-managed space station in a surprisingly well-trafficked area of mostly empty space, being pulled along by one half-naked lover whilst following the _intensely_ distracting and entirely naked backside of another. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” the Doctor laments, considering just how much of himself is also on display; not that anyone would notice in this company.

Jack glances back at him and winks. “I dunno, but it must have been good!”

“Jaaack!” If his face gets any redder it’s going to burst into flames, he’s sure of it. “Why are we even running? It’s all your fault, it must be! I thought you made up most of these stories.”

“I’m quite enjoying it,” River offers, a satisfied smile lighting her face. Which is all well and good, but, the Doctor realises suddenly, so are an absolutely _infuriating_ number of other people, because they’ve made it back to the main concourse.

“Well I’m not! You’ve got vortex manipulators, use them!”

“Sure,” Jack calls, “when we find somewhere to _stop_. Hey there, lovely,” he adds cheerfully, as he passes someone enjoying the spectacle entirely too much.

“Why not -” the Doctor suggests, desperate to end the embarrassing misery, but River pulls his arm again as he tries to slow down.

“Not _here_. You don’t actually think there are only five people in Security, do you? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’ve attracted some attention.”

Scowling darkly at her, the Doctor growls, “ _I’ve noticed._ ”

She just smiles at him. “Jealousy looks so good on you.” And yet somehow tackling them both to the floor and hiding them away from all these eyes is _not an option_ \- he’s lost his mind, there’s no other explanation for this mad chase. The Doctor stops, pulling River to a stumbling halt. “Jack!” she calls, and he comes running back.

“We’ve really gotta go, Doc -”

“I don’t see why!” the Doctor insists, stubbornly. “We fixed their gravity. Haalu was happy enough to have us about. They can’t have suddenly found week-old evidence -”

Jack is glancing around anxiously. “It’s not a week old,” he says, “and I’m going to need rescuing again if you don’t _come on_ -”

Throwing up his hands, and then hastily catching his trousers back up, the Doctor follows Jack again, glaring at everyone until he notices it’s not just Jack they are looking at, and in fact River has dropped back behind _him_ \- “ _River!_ ” he wails, trying to will himself invisible.

“Might as well enjoy it while I’m here, sweetie!” Never again, never going to get involved with Jack’s adventures again; he’s never going to stop blushing again -

“In here!” Jack calls, and they turn into a cross alley, and turn again, and then they have reached a sparsely populated maintenance corridor where they can duck into an alcove and stop for a moment. “Alright, where did you park the TARDIS?”

“Erm.” The Doctor points down and to his right. “That way? Not too far, I shouldn’t think.” River rolls her eyes and Jack snorts, and the Doctor feels ganged up on; the downside of this… whatever it is. “What? I can find her perfectly well. If you hadn’t _shot_ the Security people -”

“Unavoidable necessity,” Jack says. “Alright, we need to get you back to the TARDIS, I don’t think we have time to mess about… I could just pop over there and see if I could find her, but you probably parked in a cupboard and,” he grins suddenly, “I doubt you’d be keen on either of us wandering the station any more like this.”

The Doctor scowls, drops his coat to the floor as he steps forward. Chest to that blazing sun, he backs Jack to the wall and slides a hand up to his throat, claim and reminder. Jack is flushed and smiling, still breathing heavily from the run, and the heat of him burns pleasantly from the Doctor’s collarbone right down to his cock, because he still hasn’t managed to fasten his trousers; only he can’t mind at the moment. “No,” he says firmly, and bites Jack’s lip, licks at it, kisses him deeply as he moans; then he feels the less feverish heat of River behind him, cheek against his shoulder, satin-covered breasts pressing softly against him.

“You two,” she sighs, arms going around him to hold Jack as well. “It’s enough to drive a girl wild.” The Doctor doesn’t know what to do now, it has turned from possessive to intimate and he's never been good at that; but Jack’s strong hands are at his hips, turning him to face River, and he is held tight between them. She smiles, and kisses him gently, and says, “Lots more to look forward to, my love.”

The Doctor frowns in concern; he knows her well enough by now to know that she mostly calls him _my love_ when she is sad. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lies, and puts the smile back on. “But it’s time to go.” She leans to the side and kisses Jack around the Doctor’s shoulder, very thoroughly.

Jack sighs happily as she pulls away. “Didn’t half have to wait for that.”

River winks at him. “Catch you later, lover boys!” Quickly keying in coordinates to her vortex manipulator, she smiles at them, steps back, and is gone.

“Jack?” The Doctor turns back to him, but he has also raised his wrist to access his vortex manipulator and the Doctor is caught in his arms momentarily. Kissing him briefly, Jack lets him go.

“And now,” Jack says, “you pull up your trousers, put your coat on, and pretend you haven’t just been running around with two thoroughly debauched approximately-humans.” He smirks at the Doctor’s reignited blush. “And I run the other way, attract some more attention, turn a corner, and disappear.”

“I don’t know how you two came up with a plan without actually talking about it, Captain, but I don’t like it. You’ll be alone, and all they need to do is scan me and they’ll notice I’m the _unknown humanoid_.”

“Pretend quickly, then. It’s you we have to get back to the TARDIS. You have a better idea?”

The Doctor glares at him for a moment, then admits, “No.” He fastens his trousers, leans down to grab his jacket, then straightens and presses a finger against Jack’s chest emphatically. “But I will be _very cross_ if something happens to you.”

Jack gives him an achingly tender smile. “Duly noted.”

“And find some clothes!”

Snapping a salute, which looks absurd from a man wearing only untied boots, Jack says, “Yes, sir!” Then with a very unregulation wink and leer he adds, “Jealousy is bad for the blood pressure, I’m told.”

Raising a brow, the Doctor lets his gaze drift down his lover’s body. “But apparently good for the blood flow.”

“Lucky for both of us, then.” Reaching out for a final caress, Jack announces, “Time to go! Try to be inconspicuous,” and takes off in the direction they came.

“I'm brilliant at inconspicuous!” the Doctor yells after him. “No need for that tone! Shadow walkers have nothing on me! Most people in the universe have never seen me at all. No one will suspect a thing.”

No one important, anyway, he assures himself, as he slams the TARDIS doors closed behind him, shutting out the three Security people close on his trail. “I'm very good at inconspicuous,” he mutters, sending the TARDIS into the vortex. “It’s Jack's bad influence.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _My intent was for this to flow like a classic serial, at least for the first four chapters. Characters going off and doing their own thing then meeting back up, various groups interacting, increasingly serious cliffhangers, etc. Kind of goes off the rails for a while because I like writing smut but, well, you knew that coming in. The scene where River walks in on them was the first bit of this story I wrote, and the part where the Doctor actually fixes things was the last. And I was ridiculously chuffed with myself when I realised that the reason River is in the concourse for Jack to find is, of course, that she needs new clothes. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!_


End file.
